28 Cities
by FountainPenguin
Summary: 31 fluffy one-shots about the Rhyme and Reason friendship, across 28 cities and 15 years. (Written October 2018)
1. The One About the Dinner Party

**A/N** \- I named Rhyme and Reason after their voice actors, Amy Sedaris and Tyler Labine.

* * *

 _The one about the dinner party_

* * *

When the elevator doors broke apart, Father was the first one out. He marched onto the 11th floor like a whisking snowstorm. Amy followed on his heels, imitating his posture to the best of her ability. She could get the 'arms folded behind the back' look down just fine, mostly, but her eight-year-old frame combined with the hand-me-down white cape simply didn't command the same authority his broad shoulders and navy blue one did. Plus, she was dragging a bright pink suitcase behind her. It kept bumping into her shoe and tipping sideways onto just one of its wheels. For the sake of being dramatic, Amy made sure to pound her feet against the floor with every step. They made _pat, pat, pat_ sounds on the thin carpet of the apartment's hall.

Up ahead, Father let out a grunt. "Good graham crackers. You're making that one face again, aren't you?"

Amy scrunched her eyebrows together, and forced her voice into a low growl. "When there is serious business afoot, I always do."

 _"Amelia,"_ Father snapped, whipping around. He flung his arm out to the side, and his cape flashed behind him. Amy fell back, clutching her fingers to the collar of her shirt. Her father's superpowers gave him control over wind, and when his temper got the best of him, it always bushed his pale blue hair into a stringy, frazzled mess. Like now. Four seconds of silence passed, and Father grabbed his nose between two knuckles. His hair settled down into its usual centered flop again. "Holy hazelnuts, okay. How do I go delicately about this…?"

Dropping her gaze, Amy scratched her arm. As the seconds ticked by, she kept darting quick glances up at her father's face, and then back to the floor. The rhyming words _miss, hiss, bliss, and kiss_ drifted through her head, but she avoided saying any of them aloud.

Father let go of his face. He fell to one knee, folding his arms across his stomach, and fixed her with a stare between the eyes. "Millie, listen. Daddy is taking on a big, big job tonight. I don't expect to be back for a few days, at the very least. If we play nice with the Eiffel family this evening, they'll be happy to take care of you while I'm away. It's very, very important that you be a good girl tonight so we can make the best possible impression. You need a place to stay, and I don't want them to change their minds."

Her eyes wandered to a splotchy birthmark on her arm (It looked like a milkshake with a straw from this angle, but when rotated just right, it looked more like a skyscraper). She nudged her suitcase with her foot. Father shook her shoulder just a bit.

"Millie. You need to look professional for Daddy's big meeting tonight. Your big buck teeth are certainly _not_ professional. Keep them hidden away today, okay? Don't speak unless you have to. Don't pull strange faces. Don't smile. Don't misbehave."

Amy blinked several times, then glanced away again. She fixed the snowflake barrette in her hair with one hand. "Yes, sir."

With a sharp nod, Father jolted up and spun around. Amy followed him with her suitcase, in slow motion, with her eyes closed. Three doors later, they arrived at their destination. Room 1159. "Look at that," he muttered, raising his hand to knock. "The Eiffel's apartment is exactly four floors above ours."

 _Floor 7, Floor 11._ That rhymed. Amy raised her head. She could already smell the sweet steamed vegetables cooking on the other side of the door, and definitely some kind of meat, too, although she couldn't tell exactly what it was. Still, it was a deep, crispy, warm sort of smell that filled both her mouth and her nose. Her tongue poked between her lips. Meat wasn't as common a dish in the Wenling home as alphabet soup or macaroni and cheese, and then and there, Amy made it her mission in life to convince Mr. and Mrs. Eiffel to invite her and her father over for dinner every single month they allowed it.

Father's hand hovered where it was. "Are you _sure_ you can be on your best behavior, Millie?"

"Yes, sir." Amy knew the rules: No teasing anyone in the Eiffel family about their superpowers, no bragging about her own superpowers (even though super strength, super speed, and freeze breath were hard to top), and absolutely no starting a superpowered fight indoors. All sparring matches had to be taken outside.

Finally satisfied, Father tapped the backs of his knuckles against the door. Only two seconds passed before it flew open to reveal a short, round woman with fluffy hair so black, it was almost blue. The ruffled shirt under her coat was exactly the same color. Mrs. Eiffel threw her arms out to the sides like she wanted a great big hug, beaming at both of them the entire time.

"Perfect, you're early! Ryan is putting the finishing touches on the steak as we speak, and we'll be ready to eat in just another moment. I'll get you both some hot chocolate. Come right in and make yourselves comfy- It's so wonderful to meet you face to face at last, Mr. Zephyr. I'm Hazel, Ryan's wife."

"Please call me Nathan Wenling," he said, scooping her hand beneath the wrist. Rather than shake it, he lifted it to his lips. "We're all friends and equals here. You know, my daughter and I can't thank you enough for inviting us. I daresay she's been looking forward to it all week. I can hardly get another word out of her mouth."

Mrs. Eiffel leaned to the left, bracing her forearm against the frame of the door. A smile broke across her face. "Oh, is this little Millie herself? She's so much taller than the pictures in the paper made her out to be. Don't children just grow up so fast?"

"I go by Amy," Amy corrected, but the adults were already talking over her. Oh well. She shook her head. Her eyes skimmed up the wall to the ceiling, where one of the hallway lights flickered like a strangled ghost. Gently, she kicked her shoe against the frame of the door. It left a tiny black smudge. She rehearsed her lines in silence once again: _Hi, I'm in your son Tyler's class at school; I don't know him well but he seems nice; we played Tag together once and he didn't even get mad when I used my super speed; I turn nine in three weeks and maybe he can come to my party; my favorite thing to learn in school is English; your apartment looks so nice; the food is even more delicious than it smells, maybe you can teach me how to [insert one of the famous Eiffel craft projects here] while I'm staying with you for the month…_

Whatever Father said seemed to delight Mrs. Eiffel. She brought her hands together in a clap. "Well, you and Ryan will have all evening to talk yourselves silly. I'll just get my bumbling self out of your way. Come in, everyone. Sit wherever you like."

She moved away from the door for the first time. "Whoa," Amy said, peering out from beneath her father's tentative arm. The apartment layout was automatically familiar, with the same red-brown floorboards and speckled gray countertops found in her home downstairs. The whole place was very, very clean, even though the Eiffels were in the middle of cooking dinner. The small table had been set like a fancy restaurant table, and now awaited company like a seagull waited for fries. No backpacks, books, or stacks of paperwork were crammed between the plates. Even the dishes in the sink were already rinsed and tucked away in the dishwasher. A steam cooker full of vegetables rested on the counter's end. Behind the counter was the living room, with a really big couch shaped like the letter C. A blue blanket lay on one of its arms, and newspapers were stacked on the table between it and the tiny TV. The blinds were pulled up, but the windows showed only black. Amy knew the view from downstairs, and it would only be bricks. But somehow, that seemed less disappointing from up here.

Mr. Eiffel stood by the stove, wiping his dough-covered hands on a green cloth and smiling at them. He didn't seem very interesting. Nothing at all like the usual people her father tried to impress. He wasn't very tall, and looked a little scattered around the edges with his dark hair all frizzy. A smear of sauce crossed one lens of his glasses. He dressed entirely in black with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. But he seemed nice, at least. Amy waved to him, careful to keep her buck teeth tucked behind her lips. Mr. Eiffel waved back, then turned to ask Mrs. Eiffel a question about the cups all the kids would be using at dinner tonight.

Amy trailed her eyes behind him, up to the tops of the cabinets and the fridge. It was strange to see unfamiliar decorations in the corners of an apartment that looked just like home. Everywhere she looked, shoe box dioramas brimming with tiny clay figurines stared back at her. Ceramic elephants marched between the salt and pepper shakers. Paper cranes dangled from the ceiling on bits of wire, and animals folded out of towels lined every available shelf. Pine cones with googly eyes guarded the sink on four stick legs each, like scruffy wooden mice.

Actually, Amy liked the place, but something about it definitely crawled beneath her father's skin. She'd always known him to be a quiet and relaxed man, but with a sudden snap, he went completely stiff beside her. One hand tightened into a fist, bunching the nice fabric of the silky shirt he'd been so proud to wear. He took half a step backwards. Hm? Amy glanced around the kitchen again, then back at her father. His fingers clenched in the front of his hair.

"Oh, _graham crackers,"_ he muttered. "They're normals. Your class is brimming with supers, and I picked the normals. It's going to be a long night."

"Did you say something, Nathan?" Mr. Eiffel asked, turning his head. Father's gaze swept over him up and down, then dropped down to what he himself was wearing: The black fingerless gloves, the thick belt with his looping logo stamped across it, the dark blue cape with the rosy golden trim. He grimaced.

"I just hope I'm not overdressed."

At that, Amy adjusted her barrette again and chewed on the inside of one cheek.

"Excuse me, Hazel," Father said, raising her voice. Mrs. Eiffel turned, and Father's hand pressed against Amy's shoulder. "Would you mind it terribly if Millie used your bathroom?"

Mrs. Eiffel smiled. "Of course. It's just down the hall there. Hand me your suitcase, Millie, and I'll get it put away and waiting for you."

"That's very kind, thank you. Come along, Mil."

"I don't need to go," she protested, but her father's hand didn't leave her, so she found herself giving in. But she _did_ drag her boots for an entire three seconds, so there.

True to form, the Eiffel's narrow hall was identical to the Wenling one, albeit more organized and accented with family photos everywhere you looked. Their bathroom had green towels instead of blue, and liquid soap instead of bars. Someone had hung a painting of yellow flowers on the wall. When the door was shut, Father turned around and dropped into his familiar stiff crouch. "All right, Millie. Can you listen to Daddy, please?"

"This soap is coconut," Amy said, bringing the bottle to her nose. Her thumb bounced against its squishy spout of a top. Bubbles puttered from the tip.

"Focus, sweetheart." Father cupped Amy's cheek in her hand. Reluctantly, Amy tore her attention from the soap dispenser and forced their eyes to connect. Her father's expression was calm as a mom, firm as a germ. "Amelia. Listen."

"Okay. What?"

He breathed in, lowering his head. Then breathed out, and met her gaze again. His fingers tightened against her face. "The Eiffel family isn't like most of the other families in our apartment building, and their kids aren't like most of the kids who go to your school. They don't have superpowers."

"How can you tell?"

"I just can," he said simply. "Ryan had a bandage on his forehead. Hazel's ears are pierced, but the holes haven't sealed up even though she isn't wearing any earrings tonight. They're both normals. That means their kids are normals, too. Millie? Are you listening to me?"

She looked up, one finger still wrapped in a loose thread of her hand-me-down cape. "Yes, sir."

"Normals don't heal as quickly as supers like you and I do. So when you play with the other kids, you need to be gentle. No super-strength. In fact, when we're around the Eiffels, don't use your powers at all. Okay?"

Oh. Amy thought about it, twisting the toe of her shoe into the bathroom tile. "Okay…"

They flushed the toilet to make their visit to the bathroom less suspicious, and Father even had her wash her hands (with soap!) just to be sure they covered their tracks. Amy was still shaking off the last few drips when she stepped into the hall again. To her surprise, there were three whole kids in the Eiffel family, all with dark eyes and shiny blue-black hair. They'd all been so quiet when she and her father arrived, she never would have guessed they existed. I mean, yeah, Tyler was supposed to exist, but in the maybe three or four conversations Amy had ever had with him, he'd never mentioned a big sister or little brother.

The three kids stood between her and the kitchen, with Mrs. Eiffel behind them. The girl had long, pretty braids and a bright white toothpaste commercial sort of smile. The scruffy toddler on the end was too young to even go to kindergarten. The boy in the middle lifted his hand as high as his chin and flicked it in a shy wave. Amy almost smiled back at him, remembering at the last moment to keep her awkward front teeth tucked away. She did smile, but with closed lips.

"Amy." Mrs. Eiffel tapped each head in turn. "This is Pearl, Tyler, and Keaton. You'll be staying in Pearl's room while you're here. Tyler's in your grade, of course. I'm sure you know each other well- he always talks about how nice it is when you walk him to the library before class."

"It was just three times," Tyler corrected, his fingers curling into the neck of his sweater.

Oh, yeah. Absently, Amy bobbed her head. A couple of thick-headed bullies had pushed him off the top of the slide on the playground and then laughed when the wood chips he landed on made his hands bleed, and since she had superpowers and all, she hadn't been about to allow teasing on her watch. Tyler always came to school early enough to poke around the library, and the first day after the incident with the boys on the slide, Amy had accidentally-on-purpose followed him just to make sure they didn't try to bother him off the playground, either. She hadn't known he didn't have any superpowers, but she'd always sensed he was a little bit, well, strange.

Tyler looked different here than he did at school. Less confident, less controlling. In class, he was the boy who seized all the good crayons from the art supply bin. Teachers always congratulated him on writing the best stories. One time he even won a giant rainbow pinwheel as a prize. But here in his apartment, squished between his older sister and a younger brother almost as big as he was, he looked so small, like a lunchbox crammed into a cupboard between two backpacks. It almost, _almost_ made her giggle. His turtleneck sweater drowned him in a puddle of red and green. Amy covered her mouth to keep from showing her teeth, biting on the flap of skin between her thumb and forefinger.

"Hot chocolate?" Mrs. Eiffel asked, holding out two green mugs. Amy and her father each took one, trailing into the kitchen after her. The drink scalded the corners of her lips, but Amy gulped it down anyway. Apple cider would forever be her favorite, but hot chocolate was definitely a very, very close second. It was just so… _warm._

A finger tapped her shoulder. Amy's fingers clenched the mug. When she spun around, she found herself nose to nose with Pearl, who smiled and bounced on her toes.

"Hi, Millie! After dinner, you should come see my room. It's pink with princesses. I have three really good pillows, but I want you to pick which one you want. It'll be so fun to have you over, and if you need more blankets, just ask me! We can share."

Amy cringed at the sound of her 'M' name. Somehow, Tyler noticed. When Pearl trotted off, he materialized where she had been, wide-eyed and still gripping the thick neck of his sweater.

"Hey, um. You go by Amy at school, right? Do you like 'Amy' or 'Millie' better?"

She averted her eyes. "I hate getting called Millie." Truth be told, Amy wasn't the most exciting name, but at least it was better than Millie. Mom had called her Millie.

"Oh, okay. So you're Amy." Tyler darted off and found a seat at the table between his brother and sister. Amy circled the table and sat across from him, in the seat her father pulled out for her. He covered her lap in a napkin, because the Eiffels were fancy enough that they used napkins for dinner. _And_ they had a white tablecloth. Amy could scarcely remember the last time she'd eaten in a restaurant. Too bad there weren't any kids' menus with crayons.

Father raised his own hot chocolate to his lips for the first time, but didn't sip it. Steam trails played across his face. When he sat down, he leaned his elbows on the table. "So. Ryan. Rumor has it that you folk were living quite comfortably in Ontario until this summer. Was it difficult to leave family behind in Canada?"

"Every day," Mr. Eiffel sighed, setting a tall pot of soup in the middle of the table. The pot had its own tiny wire tray to keep it off the cloth. "Two sets of grandparents for the kids, four sets of great-grandparents…"

"I can only imagine. What brought you down to Massachusetts?"

"My brother's built a name for himself in Boston."

Mrs. Eiffel ladled a serving of soup into Keaton's bowl. "Beyond that, Ryan and I share a love for the sea. The harbor's nice, and he and I both received job offers in the area, too."

"Oh, you work? Do tell. There's a villain conference coming up, you know. I'll take care to spread the word so we can keep property damage in the area to a minimum."

"I graduated from dental school last spring."

As the adults talked about boring adult things, Amy got up to get her food. She heaped her plate with steak, potatoes, and steamed vegetables, then moved towards the comfy living room couch. Specifically, the seat with the TV remote on it, right next to that cozy blanket. Instantly, Mrs. Eiffel's attention zipped over to her.

"Oh! No food over the carpet, please, dear."

Amy froze mid-step. Her foot came down behind her. She looked down at her food, then up again. "It's on a plate."

"Millie," said her father, the lip of his hot chocolate mug hovering against his mouth. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was giving her that look of his, both his eyebrows high and pressed together in their middles.

"Wait!" This was perfect! She had super speed! She fell into it as naturally as reaching out a finger to pop a bubble. The world slowed around her like Jell-O in a dish. One moment, she was standing there. The next, everyone but her sat almost-frozen in place, and everyone was very quiet. Her hand blurred even before her own eyes. It would be at least thirty seconds before any voices reached her ears, and only then if someone was fast enough to speak as soon as her super speed kicked in. Amy shoveled her food into her mouth in great big bites, although it really didn't matter how fast she ate. From her point of view she might still feel like she was moving in a mostly-normal speed, but this way when she finished, the night would still be young. That left plenty of time for watching TV or even playing some games.

At last, she dropped her fork on the plate, and set the plate up on the counter beside the serving dishes. "There. I'm done. It was really good, thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Eiffel!"

Father's hands came down on either side of his food. His plate rattled against the table. Uh-oh. Amy shrank back, one foot behind the other. Her hands moved to the front of her shirt. Bearing all his weight on his palms, Father stood. His chair scraped across the floor. "Amelia Wenling. Please sit with us at the table until you are excused."

Now everyone was watching her. Mr. Eiffel, Mrs. Eiffel, and all three of their children, too. Even the ones who had to twist their chairs halfway around to see her. Amy stared at the toes of her boots until her gaze blurred and burned. Her hands dropped to her waist, linked in a ball. She licked one half of her lips. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

Each step towards the table scorched her feet with flaming thorns. Amy took the seat on her father's right side in silence. She'd put her plate away already, so now she had just enough space in front of her to plop down her head, if she wanted to. She started to place her elbows on the table, but a soft nudge of her father's leg against her own made her change her mind. As the grown-ups all began to talk again, Amy mostly bounced her legs and stared at the salt shaker just in front of her. Tyler sat on the other side of it with his hands folded in his lap, but every few seconds, he'd sneak a peek at her and quickly look away. Most of his food was gone. He hadn't finished his potatoes. He hadn't even started his potatoes. The cheese melting on top of them still lay in separate stripes instead of a goopy mess.

"The truck is supposed to pass through by 4:00," Father droned, and Mr. Eiffel nodded his agreement.

"Three weeks, do you think it will get you?"

"Five, but only if I get caught."

"We're honored that you trust us. We'll look after her like our own."

 _Bleh._ Work talk. Always with the work talk; Father could make a talk with other grown-ups last for hours. Maybe that was another of his powers. Pearl looked just as captivated by all of it as her parents did, so there was no point in trying to talk to her. Hm.

Stretching out her foot, Amy prodded Tyler in the knee. His shoulders jumped. He fired a look across the table like his feelings were hurt, but like he was also super curious to see whether she had done it on purpose or not.

 _"Hey,"_ she whispered, cupping one hand around her mouth. Tyler squinted, and Amy pointed down at the table. Then, slipping from her seat, she ducked beneath the tablecloth.

A moment later, Tyler joined her underneath the table on his hands and knees. "What are we doing?"

Amy shifted away from Keaton's kicking legs. "Are your family always like this?"

"Like what?" He actually really did sound confused. Amy flipped her hands over.

"So much… _talking?_ How much longer before we can turn on the TV? Or maybe go out walking?"

Tyler shrugged without taking his hands off the floor. "Well, _first_ , everyone has to finish eating. Then we have to do dishes and sweep. Usually it's baths next, but not today because we already took them early, and so I guess we'd just get in pajamas next. Then we can listen to the radio or watch TV for a little while, and _maybe_ have dessert before bed as long as we were on our best behavior today. Maybe ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. I like mint chocolate chip."

Best behavior. Always with this 'best behavior' stuff. She should have known. "Oh," Amy mumbled, shoulders slumping. She slid even farther from Keaton when he kicked a little more. Her elbow bumped against a chair leg, and she winced as fake snowflakes spluttered up her arm.

"Well." Tyler glanced down, then up again. He scraped one flop of hair out of his eyes. "Hey. I mean, you're staying with us for maybe a month, right? We'll get to watch TV at least once while you're here."

Amy balled her fists against her forehead. She didn't know. She didn't know anything. Her father, one of the most successful and dangerous supervillains in town, wanted to rob a fancy delivery truck really, really early in the morning, and he acted like he had a plan, but everything could still go so wrong. The truck might change its expected route. The other villains he teamed up with could betray him. They might rob the wrong car altogether. The police might stump him with a puzzle game he absolutely needed to know the answer to. Even if he did get the money he was after, he'd be lying low for days. Win or lose, he wouldn't be back for a week, at least.

Her hands dropped to her knees. She let go of her breath. Tyler watched her, arms folded just a little bit. "My dad says your family are normals," she said.

His head tipped even farther to the right. "Normals?"

"You don't have superpowers."

Tyler shrugged, tugging the hems of his sleeves over his hands. Amy scooted closer to him and lowered her whisper further.

"What superpower do you think you'd have if you did have a superpower?"

"Um. I don't know. I'd have to know all my choices and think about it before I picked one." Tyler looked up at her again, his eyes wide. "What kinds of powers are there?"

"Well…" Amy was surprised she had to think about it, but she did. She tapped one finger against her chin. "There are nature powers, like mine. I have freeze breath. My dad has wind powers, so he's super speedy. My mom had water powers, and she was super strong."

"What happened to your mom?"

Amy shrugged. Losing interest in the table, she lifted a tiny flap of the tablecloth between Keaton and Tyler's empty chair and peered into the living room. The adults were still talking about serious things in fake-cheerful voices to hide the dark and spooky parts. Maybe they wouldn't notice. Amy dropped to her forearms and wiggled her way beneath Tyler's chair. She crawled all the way to the living room and hid behind the newspaper-laden coffee table and one curve of the large U-shaped couch. Tyler followed her.

"Where's your Christmas tree?" Amy asked, sitting back on her heels. It seemed like it was pretty late in December not to have one set up and decorated.

"My family doesn't celebrate Christmas."

"Really? Never ever? There's a Christmas tree on your sweater."

Tyler blinked and looked down at his chest. One hand moved to cover the simple, spiky tree sewn across the middle. "Oh, yeah. Well, my mom said I have to wear this to be a good host because you guys were coming over. I don't know."

"Ah." Amy leaned her head back against the couch. Her attention slid from the blank TV to the dark windows with their blinds hitched up and then to the neatly folded blanket behind her. She pulled the blanket from the couch's arm into her lap. The blue top was super silky, but the bottom was super fluffy and looked like cotton. She couldn't decide which way she wanted it.

"Does it bother you that your dad used to be a superhero, and now he's a bad guy?" Tyler asked, out of nowhere.

Amy's hands stiffened in the blanket. She raised her head, but didn't say anything. What was she _supposed_ to say?

"I did research. By myself." Tyler lifted a stack of newspapers from the coffee table, clutching them close to his chest in a hug. They didn't line up straight. Sharp corners jabbed in all directions. His fingers fumbled about, clenching in the creases. A few loose inside pages slipped from his grip and swirled to the floor. Tyler ignored them, setting his jaw. He rifled through the stack for a minute and finally held one page out to Amy.

She took it. She didn't want to look at the little gray picture in the article, but she did. It was actually two pictures: One of Zephyr accepting yet another key to the city in a long line of keys, dressed in the old sky blue and white costume he sometimes wore for pajamas now, and one of Zephyr spotted fleeing from the bank with two lumpy bags of cash in his arms and a dozen more floating behind him in the wind, his blue cape darker and his white clothes exchanged for black.

Amy crunched the newspaper in her hands. Her palms had gotten sweaty. Ink rubbed off on her thumb. "Well, maybe if the city actually _paid_ superheroes for catching criminals and saving people, he wouldn't have had to change when I was born. Did you ever think about that? Huh? He had a baby and no one even cared enough to help him. Maybe it's the city's fault he went bad."

Tyler made his eyebrows go scrunchy. "How is it the city's fault that Zephyr started committing crimes? He's the one being bad."

"Because after my mom died, he had to take care of me all by himself. He _tried_ to get the city to pay him for superhero stuff so he could buy food and diapers and everything, but the mayor said doing good deeds was its own reward." The story carried familiar weight on her tongue. She could have said it underwater with her eyes closed after spinning around three times.

Tyler's eyes crossed, and Amy wondered what he was thinking about. He tapped one finger against his cheek, and tilted back his head to look at the ceiling. "Maybe superheroes shouldn't have kids, then. Can't he just get a regular job?"

"No." Duh. "It's 'beneath a super' because it's 'complicated adult stuff.' You'll understand when you're older."

"I think I'll still think stealing's wrong when I'm older."

"Hey, my dad only steals money from city projects that are wasteful, bad ideas." Amy threw her arms into the air. "Like the park statue project. Why should we build statues of people who are dead when there are living people alive today in this town who don't have any food to eat? I'm a living person! Living people are more important than big dumb statues!"

"… Oh." Tyler looked down at his newspaper stash. Gingerly, he set them on the table again, and gave the stack's top a pat. He left his hand there for a long time. Except for the chatter at the kitchen table, it was quiet. "I guess that's reasonable," he finally said. "Sort of. After your dad started causing trouble in the city, did he ever ask the mayor again if he could be paid to go back to being a superhero?"

Amy huffed through her nostrils and threw a stare at the silent TV. "I don't know, okay?"

"Maybe he should ask. The city probably lost a lot of money when he became a villain. They might want him to be a hero again. I bet they'd pay him."

"He never listens to me," she muttered to the floor.

Dinner ended eventually, and then it was time for everyone to help clean. Father used his wind powers to lift the bowls, cups, and napkins from the table, snapping his fingers in a constant rhythm as he directed them towards the sink. Mr. Eiffel wiped down the counter, Mrs. Eiffel and Pearl did the dishes, and Amy and Tyler tackled the table together. Using super speed made the job go much faster. For everyone else, at least.

"I should go," Father said, shaking Mr. Eiffel's hand in good-bye. "Wouldn't want to miss my train."

"We'll take good care of Millie," Mr. Eiffel promised. "Three meals a day, homework done, never late for school."

"Amy," Tyler corrected, pouring crumbs into the trash can. Amy stood silently behind him. When her father passed by, she reached out her arm.

"Daddy? I mean, sir?" Amy grasped the silky end of his cape and tugged hard, biting her lip. When he turned, she pulled back her hand. "So, uh, when do you think you'll be back from jail?"

Father's eyes softened. He bent down, not quite crouching, and stroked the loose threads of blue hair that had swung from her careful barrette. "Oh, Millie… I'll be home in a few months, without fail. And that's only if we get caught. If all goes well, you'll see me within a week. Then we'll go out for ice cream."

He kissed her forehead, rubbing behind her skull with his fingertips. Amy didn't try to hug him back, but waited respectfully for him to pull away. He did. Straightening, he walked away towards the door. She walked away towards the windows. It was dark enough outside that she could still see her father reflected in the glass clearly, instead of the brick wall. He wasn't even looking at her. Even worse, Tyler was, his brown eyes all big and round with knowing pity. Her shoulders cringed. Her hands tightened together at her sides. Was that bitter? Bitterness felt right, so bitter she would be. Just for a month, or maybe just a week. However long it took.

When Father opened the door to the Eiffel's apartment, Amy closed her eyes so she didn't have to watch it shut without him.


	2. The One About Rhyme's 11th Birthday

_The one about Rhyme's 11th birthday_

* * *

Tyler pulled the juice box straw from his mouth and uncrossed his legs. Leaning back on one hand, he said, "Yeah, so, I don't think we can fit the table _and_ all this party stuff _and_ us in the elevator." Seriously, even without the extra chairs and sleeping bags, the eleven balloons alone would crowd up all the space. He stood by his opinion that inflating them in Amy's apartment instead of his would have been the more reasonable way to go. Although, this way he _had_ gotten to go back to his apartment and switch into his favorite white footy pajamas, so win-win, maybe?

Underneath the rubber folding table, Amy huffed and stuck out her tongue. Tyler could tell, even though he couldn't see her from his perch on the table's top. It wobbled underneath him as she staggered backwards. One corner bumped against the wall, scraping a gash across a small flower on the wallpaper. Tyler raised his eyebrows. He'd seen Amy heft a stack of eight sheepdogs before, which probably weighed even more than he and the table did, but still, her arms had to be shaking _so_ bad right now. It sure felt like they were. They'd already lost the shopping bag that held the paper plates and all the napkins. Tyler moved his leg to block the ice cream cake from sliding off the edge after it.

"Nope!" Amy smacked her lips, drawing in a scratchy breath. "Nope, it can totally fit. If it doesn't fit now, we can try again later!"

"If you say so." Tyler tightened his grip on the balloon strings and bit the end of his straw again. When Amy stumbled to the elevator door, he reached out and pressed the button with his toes. The elevator _ding_ ed instantly, and Tyler couldn't hold back a tiny smirk. Even the building knew better than to mess with Amy on her birthday.

Amy lurched inside the elevator and started to tilt the table against the wall. Tyler grabbed the cake and slid down to the floor. Everything else cascaded after him, but none of it was breakable, so it was okay. He stepped off to the side as the doors fell shut. Amy wiped her forehead with the underside of her wrist, then shot him her famously cheerful buck-toothed grin.

"See? I told you I'd make it all fit."

He pulled his foot out from beneath a toppled box of flower-shaped soaps, new nail polish bottles, nail polish remover (his idea), and party hats. "You okay?"

She nodded, licking her lips too much to respond. Four floors down, the elevator doors opened again. Amy took the table by one set of its collapsible legs and pushed it into the hall. Tyler followed, weighed down with grocery bags and wrapping the ribbon tail of one balloon around his finger. He heard the Wenling apartment before he saw it. Impressive feat, considering her door was propped open with a paint-splattered bar stool. Cheering kids scrambled around each other while parents shushed them and hung up the last few streamers on the ceiling fan.

"Your cousins came early?" Tyler guessed, already unzipping his jacket. Then he had to duck as Amy turned, swinging the table above her head.

"Monica and Kate. Lois and Rae. Skylar too. It won't be a very big party."

"Oh, yeah. Your dad said only to invite your closest friends, huh?"

"That's true."

"I'm excited. Well." Tyler tilted his head, trying to find the right amendment to that statement. "Not about all the pink and purple, and I don't want to do any of the make-up stuff if that starts happening, but the sleepover part will be fun."

"And the pineapple decorating."

"And the board games."

"And the sponge skating."

They sighed contentedly, leaning their heads almost together. Then Tyler blinked and straightened up. He ducked through the door and out of the way so Amy could fit through with the table and all. The kitchen looked nice. Cleaner than usual, except for the dishes in the sink that had been used to make the sugar cookies. Mr. Wenling leaned against the fridge, surrounding by floating plastic forks and looking lost, uncomfortable, and exposed in his pressed shirt and bow tie. Tyler waved at him, and he waved back in stony silence.

The party wasn't supposed to start for real for another hour and a half. That gave them plenty of time to hang up the posters, pull out the board games, _finally_ pick which movie they were going to watch, and set the table. Amy's aunts and uncles had already pushed the couch and coffee table out of the way. Yep. So far, everything was going according to plan.

"I brought candy corn, cousins," Tyler called, lifting two shopping bags. Wide, hopeful eyes swiveled his way. He cracked a smile, and gave the first bag a shake. "Everyone knows popcorn isn't any good without candy corn mixed in."

Amy set the table on the floor with a _thunk._ "And I've got juice boxes by the dozen!"

Screeching and squealing, her cousins swarmed her like leeches in a pond. Amy burst into giggles and tried to shoo them back, with no luck whatsoever. Monica and Lois knocked her to the floor. Tyler stood back, shaking his head. Oh, well. _He_ thought the candy corn was exciting. He'd been saving it since before Halloween just for tonight, after all.

The shopping bags went on the table. The balloons in the living room. The snowflake cookies lined the counter, ready to be decorated as guests arrived. The table and chairs were set up and then decorated with their plastic cloth, plates, and cups. Tyler checked each and every item off his mental list three times over, keeping constant watch on every mischievous child running rampant through the place. Was he missing anything? Streamers, banners, games, a corner table for all the presents to go…

"My pillow," he muttered, staring at his unrolled sleeping bag in front of the TV. "I left my pillow upstairs." It was his favorite pillow too: the pale green one with the colorful signatures done in fat markers. The pillowcase had been signed by all the coolest villains in the surrounding cities, thanks to Mr. Wenling bringing it to a villain conference one time on Tyler's behalf.

Sudden arms wrapped around his stomach and gave him a gentle, thankful squeeze. Amy. Tyler smiled, and let thoughts of his pillow fade away. That settled it, then. Everything was perfect. Even if it was pink and purple and doused in three layers of glitter.

Amy vanished down the hall to check up on Rae, who had mysteriously vanished half an hour ago in the general location of Amy's room. Now, anything else? Spare pillows? Check. Extra blankets? Check. Napkins? Yeah, he'd gone back to grab those already.

A job well done indeed. Tyler treated himself to some warm apple cider. Okay. _Now_ everything was perfect, and still twenty minutes to go. What could he say? Organizing things ran in his Eiffel blood. He settled on the couch and raised his cider cup to his lips. The friendly chaos of Amy's cousins tasted so familiar, somehow. All his cousins lived in Canada and he only saw them over either their Thanksgiving or his (depending on the year). Most of them hadn't even been at his last birthday party, or the one before that, either. That was something cool about Amy's family: No matter how far apart they were, they always made an effort to gather together for at least one event around the winter holidays.

A shadow fell across his lap, turning his white pajamas to gray. Without lifting his head, Tyler rotated his eyes upward to find Mr. Wenling looming over him, stiff and silent. Uh-oh. Tightening his fingers and toes, Tyler evaluated what he was doing again. He was sitting on the couch with a glass of cider. That wasn't against the Wenling family rules. They always let him eat in the living room when he came over. He hadn't put his feet up on the cushions, and he'd made sure to take his shoes off at the door, even though that meant throwing them into the mess with all the other shoes that looked just enough alike to get mixed up when they were done.

"It was very nice of you to come by and help us set up Amy's party," Mr. Wenling said, like a voice recording attached to a washing machine.

"Yeah, she's my best friend."

Mr. Wenling held out a paper plate, topped with a piece of Amy's vanilla cake. The ice cream inside was starting to melt, dribbling into little crumb-sprinkled puddles like snow. Tyler took it with one hand, slowly.

"Um… Is this for Amy?"

"It's for you."

"Oh. Uh." Tyler stared at the cake a moment longer, not… really sure what to say to that. He set his cider glass between his legs, shifted the plate to his other hand, shook out his wrist, then did the same thing with the other side. "I don't mind waiting for another slice. I think Amy should get the first piece, shouldn't she? We didn't even sing to her yet."

Mr. Wenling sighed. Coming around the couch, he lowered himself into place right beside Tyler, and balanced his hands on his pointy knees. They folded. "May I talk to you for a moment, Tyler?"

"Okay…"

Leaning forward, Mr. Wenling asked, "Do you like pink?"

That hadn't exactly been the question Tyler was expecting. He blinked, cocking his head. "Well, no, not really, I guess."

"Mmhm. And… designing fashion and wearing costumes?"

"I don't know. It's not what I would do for a party on my birthday, but it's not my birthday. It's Amy's."

Mr. Wenling leaned in again. This time, he braced one elbow against his knee, and cupped his chin in his hand. "Tyler, I want to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly. Have you noticed that you are the only boy here at the party tonight?"

Oh. Tyler shrugged, reaching for the collar of his pajamas. He pinched the zipper between his fingertips. Was that really a fair question? After all, most of the guests hadn't shown up yet. The party wasn't supposed to start for fifteen minutes.

"Listen. Tyler."

Never a good sign. Tyler closed his eyes, holding the plate of cake close against his chest.

"I like you, but I hope you realize that this was meant to be a girls-only party."

"I don't mind if it's a little-"

"I'm going to need to ask you to leave."

The breath froze inside his chest. His eyes flew open again, head jerking up. "What? You mean, leave the whole party? It hasn't even started yet!"

Mr. Wenling put his head to one side. His other arm moved to the back of the couch. "Amy is 11 now. You're both growing up, and getting too old for boy-girl parties. Boys and girls your age aren't supposed to sleep together. Your being here could make some of the other parents uncomfortable. Or their daughters."

Parents? Daughters? Tyler's eyes stung with biting frost. Of course. Leave it to Mr. Wenling to be straight and firm like this. "Well… Trisha Jensen had a party with girls and boys."

"Not a sleepover," he pointed out, and that was basically the end of the discussion. He left, and Tyler dropped his plate in his lap and buried his face in his hands. _It would make me uncomfortable not to be part of my best friend's birthday party,_ he thought.

Couldn't Mr. Wenling have warned him earlier? Like, a _lot_ earlier? He acted like this wasn't a new decision. It… it just wasn't fair! Mr. Wenling had let him come over to help plan the party, he'd let him pick the treats for the party, he'd let him help decorate for the party, he'd let him do everything except actually get to _enjoy_ the party!

But was he right? Tyler stared at the clock on the stove, peeking between his fingers. Was it okay for boys and girls to have sleepovers together now that they were 11? He'd heard his mom and dad talking about things like this too, a little, every time they sat him down to explain why Amy had to sleep in Pearl's room when she stayed over, instead of with him and Keaton. But they hadn't said it like this…

Did he even _want_ to be the only boy at Amy's party? Would any of the other girls like the board games he liked? Would they want to talk about the books he'd read? What if they didn't like the activities or decorations, and he had to spend the evening listening to them complain?

Did Amy even want him at the party? Tyler flinched. Had she asked her dad to talk to him so she wouldn't have to? That didn't sound like Amy. Did it? Did he even know her that well? He'd only moved here two and a half years ago. What if she'd invited friends he didn't even know? What if everyone saw him and then teased her that she had a boyfriend? What if he didn't laugh at the right jokes, or he messed up in the games, and he embarrassed her?

Tyler stared at the cake in his lap, his fingers pressing at his cheeks. They were very hot. Sweat trickled down his spine and gathered between his ribs. Wow. He'd never had to worry about embarrassing Amy before. Now he might never stop. Why did Mr. Wenling have to go and _say_ something like that?

Fine. At the door, Tyler shoved on his shoes. He stuffed his arms into the puffy sleeves of his jacket and zipped it all the way to his chin. He'd leave his present for Amy to enjoy, but take his soggy cake.

"Wait…"

Amy.

Amy wasn't supposed to see him. Tyler stopped, his fist clenching his zipper, and almost regretted his choice to leave his present behind. Maybe he shouldn't have come at all. He turned, teeth in his tongue. Amy's hands moved to her chest. She tipped her head to one side.

"Tyler? Are you going home already?"

"Um." Tyler found that he couldn't hold eye contact. He gripped his cake plate tighter. "Yes. My uncle's supposed to be here, and we can play our game some more, and… I have to go."

Amy blinked several times in a row. Her shoulders heaved just once, and she shook her head. Tyler bit his lip, already bracing himself for the hug. Sure enough, she bolted towards him with her arms outstretched.

Mr. Wenling was faster. His hand snapped out and snagged his daughter by the back of her collar. Her shirt dug into her neck, and she yipped. "Millie," he said, pulling her back. "Control your emotions before your strength hurts someone. Don't forget, he's fragile."

The way he emphasized _fragile_ made Tyler cringe. He dropped his gaze to the floor and gripped his jacket hood. He'd only need a moment's notice to flip it over his head and try to melt into the wall.

In the end, he left without the hug. The elevator ride was bumpy, filled with scratchy noises. The lights seemed to flicker with every passing heartbeat that thudded in his ears. When he reached Floor 11, Tyler made his way through the hall without even looking up. He scratched one nail along the styrofoam plate and its lumpy cake.

The door to the Eiffel apartment wasn't locked. It was almost like everyone had expected him to come back. He could hear Uncle Pat, Aunt Rose, and his dad arguing over horses and rolling a lot of dice in the living room. Just as he came in, Pearl grabbed her hair ties and friendship bracelet kit from the kitchen counter and flew past him with a loud, "'Bye, Mom! See you tomorrow!"

"Be good, sweetie," Mom called after her. Tyler leaned back to watch her dart through the hallway towards the elevator. His fingers curled into his foam plate. A melted puddle of cream trickled along his thumb.

He rotated, slowly, on his heels. "Hey, Mom? Where is _she_ going?"

Mom pretended not to hear him, and continued rinsing off the dish. Right then, Tyler had enough. He slammed the half-eaten cake in the trash and balled his hands into fists.

"No way! Why does _Pearl_ get to go to Amy's party when I don't? They're not even that good of friends."

Without turning, Mom said, "It's a girl thing, Tyler."

"I wanted to go! You know I wanted to go!"

"You don't even like fashion."

"So? I don't like aliens, and I still went to Logan's alien party. Amy's my best friend! And I helped her get ready for more than a week!" A sudden new thought occurred to him, and he snapped up his head. Then he snapped out his finger. "Wait a minute! Amy's first idea was for an ice skating party. Her dad made her pick the fashion theme and stay indoors. You guys _planned_ to make it pink and girly just so you'd have a reason to keep us apart! You're still mad that we're friends!"

Mom slid the plate into the dishwasher, and picked up one coated with spaghetti sauce. "We'll talk about this later tonight, Tyler, when you're ready to be reasonable."

"I'm always reasonable! I'm the biggest voice of reason in this entire apartment!" He wiped his hand across his eyes, furious and hating, hating, _hating_ himself for starting to cry over something like this. It made his voice wobble and his shoulders shake. "Okay. You know what? That's fine."

"We'll talk at 6:00," Mom said over her shoulder. She didn't even turn around. Too busy _cleaning_. Always cleaning the apartment, never cleaning his feelings, or something like that. Tyler hung up his jacket and stalked the short distance to the living room, where his family were still rolling dice across the coffee table. Papers and maps lay strewn all around them in semi-organized chaos.

At least one good thing was bound to come out of this evening. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Amy his Uncle Pat had come in from Boston for the weekend. Uncle Pat always brought down his D&D books. Tyler was still new to the game with less than a year of experience under his belt, but it actually wasn't bad so far. Enjoyable, even. He'd given everybody else the go-ahead to start without him tonight, but if he couldn't go to Amy's party, at least he could play now.

His optimistic attitude didn't last for long. The character sheet Uncle Pat passed him was neat and perfect, without any creases or signs of water damage. It was _too_ perfect. He didn't even recognize the human cleric in his own hands. _Rafael Paulson._

"What?" Tyler lowered the sheet. He leaned across the table, pressing his eyebrows together. "What happened to my elf barbarian? Didn't I have an elf barbarian?"

"He died," Uncle Pat told him calmly, adjusting his DM screen to conceal his scribbled notes. Tyler glanced around the rest of the group. Aunt Rose hadn't lifted her head. Dad rubbed behind his neck.

"I'm sure I did," Tyler tried again, sitting back on his heels.

"Here." Uncle Pat handed Tyler his bag of dice. They clicked together. "I rolled you up that human, so you can jump straight into the action. We were just gathering wood when sudden lightning scared our horses off. The southern tip of the forest is ablaze."

"No thanks," Tyler muttered. He grabbed a short pencil with a nubby gray eraser. "I like playing the fantasy races more than humans. I think I'll roll up a halfling and start in town-"

Uncle Pat slammed his hand on Tyler's character sheet. Tyler jumped. His pencil tumbled to his lap. Uncle Pat cleared his throat, and pushed his glasses higher. "Tyler, I'd like you to use the cleric I made for you. It would really balance the team."

Tyler bit his lip and picked up his pen again. "I can make a halfling cleric…"

"This campaign is about fighting demons, Tyler. _Not_ living with them."

"Patrick," Dad began, looking up for the first time. "There are gentler ways to go about this. Let's spend an evening thinking things over, and then talk about this tomorrow."

Tyler rolled his eyes, and began erasing words on his character sheet. D&D was a game of choice. And he chose to play an elf.

"He's your son, but he's _my_ nephew. He should be setting a good example for his younger cousins."

"Pat, you don't have any kids."

"Twins on the way," Uncle Pat argued, gripping the coffee table with both hands. He'd probably flip it over if he weren't so concerned about his precious game's rule books. "That girl's father is mentally unstable and a menace to society as a whole. She has powers and an unbalanced home life. Statistically speaking, she'll turn out just like him, and she'll drag your son down with her."

Blah blah blah blah blah.

Ryan crossed his arms. "The Wenlings are a perfectly well-adjusted family, even if they do have superpowers."

 _"Dangit,_ Ryan, this isn't _just_ about the Wenlings-"

"With you, it's never 'just' about the Wenlings."

"Can you blame me?" Uncle Pat snapped. Yep, and _theeere_ was the predictable accusing finger. Tyler raised one eyebrow, pressing his lips together, when Uncle Pat pointed his way. "He's a boy, and that little frost demon is a girl. Attraction is inevitable; just wait and see if I'm wrong."

Dad did not bend or break, but continued sitting still. _"That_ is none of your business."

"He's your son!"

"And if he wants to marry a super someday, then I'll respect his decision with all my heart."

"Ryan!" Mom cried from the kitchen, aghast with horror, and he cringed for the first time. Turning to his son, he started to say, _"Well,_ we should talk…"

"I haven't even decided if I want to marry Amy," Tyler said, briefly glancing up from his work on the sheet. All eyes turned towards him. His eraser was still pressed against the page. He tightened his grip, knuckles bulging. His teeth clenched the same way. "Right now, she and I are best friends. We don't _like-like_ each other, and we're too young to get married anyway. We're 10. Well, she's 11. Can we stop fighting about this? Please?"

Uncle Pat folded his arms, drawing his eyebrows inward. "Supers are unpredictable. They lose control of themselves every day, and innocent people get hurt."

"Yeah, like _them."_ Tyler dropped the pencil with a clatter and stood up. "Fine, whatever. I don't want to play anymore anyway. I don't want to play again ever. At least not with you guys. Stop ruining my day. You're not making it any better."

He stomped from the living room without another word, and made sure to slam his bedroom door. Snatching up the villain signature pillow he'd forgotten to bring to the sleepover he had _not been invited to_ , he flopped against his bed and let out a deep, long scream.


	3. The One About Getting Glasses

_The one about getting glasses_

* * *

The bumpy yellow stripe dividing her from the drop to the subway rails felt nice and squishy beneath her feet. Amy rocked forward on her toes, then back on her heels. Forward on her toes. Back on her heels. It was so warm underground, but in a hot and sticky station-full-of-people-with-pointy-elbows way, not a cozy-underneath-the-blankets way. She drew her hair up in a loose ponytail for a moment, then let it flutter back around her shoulders. Aimless chatter trickled through the air. Someone nearby, somewhere, was eating chips way too noisily from a crinkly bag. Fritos? With all the clingy, wet scents of the subway, it was hard to tell for sure.

She sighed. Tiny frost crystals circled into the air, evaporating instantly. The afternoon couldn't creep by any more slowly. It was just one of those sticky days. She and Tyler had spent all morning sneaking around the fountain by the museum, taking turns dunking their heads and keeping their eyes peeled for security guards who might spoil their fun (His blue-black hair was still soaked pure black to prove it). They'd even come away with several handfuls of coins each, which they'd smuggled into Tyler's backpack between mischievous giggles.

Now, here in the tunnels, the precious sunlight was gone. It wasn't chilly, but it wasn't warm. Crossing her arms, Amy kicked the yellow stripe with the toe of her too-small flip-flop and said, "I wish we had some snacks."

"Stay here," Tyler said, not even looking up from his poetry book. That new English teacher who taught 1st and 3rd periods, Mrs. Shanning, had loaned it to him for the weekend. Amy glanced down, but even when she squinted, she couldn't quite make out the words on the page. She just knew he was almost finished with the whole thing. Tyler licked his forefinger and flipped to the next poem. "It's supposed to pull up at any moment, and getting separated in a place this crowded will be a nightmare."

"There were vending machines just back that way. Soda. Chocolate." Amy tilted her head. She let her arms drop. "It would just take a second if I zipped over and bought it."

Still reading, Tyler slipped his hand in hers and locked her firmly in place. "It's an hour ride there, and if I have to stand around crammed between a bunch of tall, sweaty people the whole time, I'm at least going to suffer alongside you." His fingers tightened in hers and cringed away at the same time. "Also, do your hands _ever_ warm up?"

Amy shook her head. "Ice powers."

The beam of the subway's headlight lit the left-hand tunnel. The tracks rumbled. Tyler shook his head too, and finally closed the book with a snap. "Right. I'm going to have to start wearing gloves. Come on, step back. We're supposed to be _behind_ the yellow line, not on top of it."

The subway roared past them, its brakes screeching on metal. Amy squinted, lifting one hand to shield her eyes. Loops of hair frisked around her face. She spat out the threads and shoved the rest behind her shoulder. The subway rattled to a halt. They'd misjudged where the doors would be. Amy moved to the right, at the same time Tyler moved to the left. Their fingers loosened. Realizing this at the same time, they switched tactics. Tyler surrendered, and let her pull him upstream against the squirming crowd.

Inside the subway car, Amy couldn't help but snort. Sure, math had never been her strongest subject, but even she knew this didn't make any sense. How was it possible the car could still be so crowded when so many passengers had just gotten out? All the seats were taken, of course, and most of the poles by the doors. Every second that passed just allowed more people to elbow their way in. At this rate, she and Tyler would end up crammed in the middle, between a very heavy man with a half-eaten sandwich, and a sneering woman who only wore black and decorative spikes.

Amy tightened her grip on Tyler's hand. She pushed her way to the front of the car, where an unused fabric loop still flapped from its overhead pole. She snagged it with two fingers. It slid towards her when she gave a slight tug.

"Whoa," Tyler said from behind, his voice blurring in the noise and stuffiness of the car. His hand dropped away. Amy twisted back. Tyler stared up at her, small and square in his sleeveless striped shirt. An elbow bumped against his ear. He hugged his poetry book to his chest with one arm. The other had moved behind his neck. Amy arched one eyebrow, wordlessly asking why he'd let go. A crinkle appeared along his forehead. Lifting his thumb, Tyler brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I always forget how tall you are. I mean, we're just in 9th grade."

Her eyes flicked back to the scratchy cloth loop in her hand. It didn't take much effort to reach it. Her arm almost made a perfect L. Tyler followed her gaze. The elbow from before bopped the back of his head again, and so did an enormous leather purse when the lady behind him turned around to apologize. The subway car doors shuddered shut. He hesitated, then lifted his hand.

"I guess I'll just…"

He stepped closer. His fingers closed around her arm, right at the crook of her elbow. Amy jumped, just a little bit. Somehow, even though they'd been friends for five years and counting, it always caught her by surprise to remember Tyler was so _warm._ Just, automatically, without even trying. He conducted heat like a cookie sheet.

"That works," she said, bracing her other hand against her waist. The subway puttered away from the station. Amy adjusted her footing, stretching out her toes. They stood in silence among their fellow sardines. Tyler hitched his poetry book beneath his arm.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, tilting back his head.

Amy blinked. "What?"

"About probably getting glasses."

"Oh." Shrug, with a scuffing shoe and wandering eyes. She added a third finger to her hold on the loop. "Yeah. They'll be weird, but it's okay. I'll get used to them one day." After all, what else was there to say? Her vision wasn't good, and it was bound to get worse from here on out. Wearing glasses would help her see better, whether she liked it or not.

Tyler's eyes flitted to the lady's large purse again. He shifted slightly closer to Amy. "If you don't like how they feel, you could get contacts instead."

Amy grimaced. "I think they'd freeze in my eyes."

"Well…" He tilted his head. "Hey, it might not be so bad. This is a special super eye doctor. Maybe he'll find out you have super vision."

"Maybe."

"When does your dad get out of jail? Tuesday?"

"Thursday."

Tyler's eyes crossed. His fingers drummed along his book. Amy guessed he was running through their to-do list for the day, and indeed, the first words to leave his mouth were, "Shoe shopping after glasses, or license renewal?"

"Um…" Amy frowned. Oh, geez. He was asking this _now?_ She hadn't visited the superhuman specialty stores since a quick trip with her father two years ago. She remembered the general layout of the shoe store, but beyond that, her mental map blurred. "I don't really care. What's closest?"

"The registration center is four blocks from the eye doctor, and the shoe store is two in the opposite direction," he counted on his fingers. " _But_ it's uphill. The gym just reopened last week and it's on the way to the center, but we can't get in until you get your license renewed. There's also that frozen yogurt place between the cook-in-front and the flower shop, so that's your call."

Amy dropped her elbow so it balanced on his head. "Do you still do things for fun, perhaps? Or do you just memorize all the city maps?"

Tyler stared up at her, eyebrows peaked. "I don't even know anymore."

Just then, the lady with the enormous purse stepped back and swung her arm at the same time. Her purse caught Tyler below the ear. He stumbled forward, grabbing Amy's arm until his nails pinched skin. It didn't hurt, but it did leave red marks like little crescent moons.

"I'm so sorry," gushed the woman, spinning to face him. Her hands flew to her mouth. "Again. Oh, honey, I'm so very sorry."

"It's fine," Tyler said, rubbing the place where he'd been hit. Amy stared at the bulging purse. She'd heard the smack. What did that woman keep in there? Dictionaries?

Purse Lady pursed her lips. She clasped her hands by her waist. "You know, I really don't mean to interrupt, but I heard you mention license renewals. You both look too young to be driving, so is there any chance you two are supers?"

Amy and Tyler stiffened together. A hasty glance. An uncertain nod. Facing the woman, Tyler flicked his finger back and forth between the two of them. "She is. I'm not." He didn't delve any further. Didn't even give their names.

"Really?" The woman's dark eyes shifted to Amy, then swept from her windblown cotton candy hair to her undersized flip-flops and back again. Her licorice smile twisted higher. "Up and coming hero, or villain?"

Amy's stomach plummeted, then lifted into her chest. Her fingers tightened into the loop above her head. Tyler's clenched against her arm. Somehow, despite the sweat beading on her neck and the cotton in her throat, she managed to choke out, "Just a plain, everyday model citizen."

The woman didn't say anything else. She didn't turn away, either. Amy focused her attention on the ceiling, and _still_ _the woman would not turn away._ Tyler leaned his head against Amy's side, watching her watch them.

Ten silent minutes probably passed like this, although it burned more like fifteen. Finally, as the subway began to slow at the next stop, the woman turned away and fluffed her hair. Amy bent her mouth to Tyler's ear. "She knows."

"Knows what?"

"That I'm Zephyr's daughter. She's judging me. Why else would she say that? 'Hero or villain?'"

Tyler hesitated. "She was just trying to be nice."

"Oh, now that's funny, because I think she was trying to be a big-"

"You know," the lady said, awfully loudly, "it's rude to gossip in a public space."

Amy glared at the back of her head. The back of the lady's head seemed to glare at her, too. Amy was just about to turn the other way for good when she noticed the tiny movement of Tyler's hand. It happened so fast and so subtly, lost among the business of their crowded car. One moment, his hand was near his face, casually shoving his book beneath his chin. The next, it was in the lady's purse. Amy blinked, too bewildered to ask him what he was doing.

Not that she really had to. Maybe it was heightened awareness from her villainous upbringing, maybe he just wasn't as good a pickpocket as he thought he was, but there was no denying the wallet in his hand when he pulled his arm back. Three flicks of his hand, and he'd pinched a wad of green bills and slipped the wallet into her purse again. Tyler held his book against his chest as before, quiet and casual for the entire remainder of the ride. When they left the subway, Amy didn't ask.

They found the optometrist they were looking for without any trouble. Googly eyes had been glued all over the door. The waiting room had uncomfortable red chairs and stacks of magazines about the greatest heists pulled by supervillains this year across the country, but no other people. Amy wasn't sure whether she felt disappointed to be alone, or relieved. A radio behind the front desk played songs that might have been jazz, which was somehow amusing in the middle of the day. Good. Too much quiet would have gotten on her nerves.

Her attention wandered to the literal hundreds of glasses frames lining the shelves in the neighboring room. Some were black, others brown. Many were thick, and many thin. Some resembled goggles, and others shades. One in particular appeared more like a futuristic visor than something you would actually wear every day. The highest number of lenses she counted on a pair was twelve.

Tyler sat in the farthest chair, popped open his poetry book, and kicked one leg up on his knee. Leaving him to read, Amy checked in at the desk, then skimmed magazines until she was summoned to the dark rooms at the very back of the clinic. Staying focused required every ounce of effort. The vision tests were long, with puffs of air squirted into each eye, and cold masks that had to rest against her face while she stared at a blurt patch on the wall and answered "1 or 2?" in a never-ending cycle. And then the two hours of exhaustive tests to uncover whether she possessed any forms of night vision, telescopic vision, heat vision, x-ray vision, laser vision, electromagnetic vision, or maybe the ability to shoot ice beams from her eyes…

But the man who ran the exam was nice enough. Although he dealt with supers everyday and probably knew all of them between Boston and Atlanta, he kept his conversation focused on her alone. How was she enjoying this heat wave? What high school was she attending? Did she play any sports? Volleyball? He had a niece who'd tried out for her team, but hadn't made it on. Zephyr's name never came up once, and for that, Amy was quietly grateful.

"20/60," the doctor reported when the tests were over, pushing the mask machine away. Amy rubbed her eyes, and he added, "No doubt about it. You're nearsighted, Amy."

"After sitting through all those tests," she grunted, "I'd better be."

He chuckled. "Head out there and pick the frames you like. We'll have your glasses ready for pick-up next week."

Her stomach clenched at the thought. So, this was Amy Wenling now. A girl doomed to wear glasses for the rest of her life.

Tyler raised his head when Amy came out from the back, rubbing her arm. "No secret super vision?" he guessed.

"Nope. Just regular old near-sight from my mother's side."

He nodded and returned to reading. Amy's eyes wandered along the nearest displays. There sure were a lot of frames she could choose from, and making choices from large selections had never really been her thing. Uh… She picked up a cute black pair with thick circles around the lenses, then checked the price and shriveled inside. Okay, maybe not.

Still, she kept them in her hand as she prowled the room, comparing shapes and sizes. Far too many of them were made for three or four eyes instead of two. Some had been designed specifically for unusual head shapes, with fabric straps instead of arms to hold them in place. One pair had actual triangles for the lenses. She let those ones slide.

Circles or squares? Standing in front of the provided mirror, Amy switched between the two options in her hands, over and over and over. Black circles. Tortoiseshell squares. Hmm. The circles were nice and big. They emphasized the pale blue-green of her eyes without blowing their size out of proportion, and didn't dig any sharp corners into her nose.

She swapped them out again, and heaved out a louder sigh than she'd meant to. The squares were more reasonably priced, but the circles fit so much better…

The clock on the wall ticked out every silent second. Amy rotated her wrist back and forth and trying to remember which restaurants near her apartment served half-price meals for Superhero Sunday. She could eat with the Eiffels on Saturdays, and if she rationed her lunches at school every week for the next month to double as her dinner, then maybe she could afford to splurge a little extra…

"Are those the ones you've narrowed down to?"

Amy glanced over her shoulder. Tyler still sat on his bench, one hand resting on his cheek, watching her reflection. She held both frames up so he could see.

"The circles are nice and fit well on my peepers, but while the squares are so small, they're also much cheaper."

His expression didn't change. "You picked the circles up first, and you've been carrying them around ever since. Get the circle ones."

Amy winced. Sure, duh, that was easy for him to say. She'd been brought up to save every ounce of spare change she had for a rainy day. If Tyler were the one who needed glasses, he could have grabbed whatever on the shelf caught his interest, and his mom would have paid for it all up front, no questions asked.

"Well, yeah, they're definitely top-tier, but they're also three times as much as every pair here." And to prove she spoke the truth, she waved her arm behind her.

"I've got you covered," Tyler said, returning his attention to his poems. What? _Oh._ Amy lowered the glasses and watched the top of his head in silence. After a long moment of this, he added, "People who are rude to you get to buy you nice things. They're your glasses and you're going to be wearing them for years, so get the ones you like the most. Just let me handle the money, please. It's really not a big deal."


	4. The One Where Prom Is Terrible

_The one where prom is terrible_

* * *

There was no reason for it to be this hot. It was _April_ , for crying out loud. Tyler flopped into the locker room instead of walking. Slumping on the nearest bench, he switched his tennis racquet for his water bottle. Then he grabbed the collar of his shirt and wiped it across his forehead. Sweat soaked his underarms and made his hair stick across his eyelids in stripes, which just wasn't fair. His arm ached at a very specific point behind his elbow. He hadn't even pushed himself that hard today, but the back of his mouth tasted like blood.

Okay, new plan. Rush to Amy's apartment, tell her he'd be late tonight and she could pick their evening movie to make up for it, shower… No, grab a snack, then shower… Pajamas? Not the footies, even though he still fit in the ones he'd cut the toes off. He'd broil to death before the opening credits rolled. Other options? Not great ones; most of his pajamas were thermals. Maybe borrow something from Keaton, since they were the same size anyway… Forget the pajamas for now. He was too hot and gross to think straight. Shower here, then stop for a milkshake, then go home? That way he wouldn't feel self-conscious about stinking up the bus. Wait, no… Amy would wonder what was taking so long and if all was going according to plan. So find Amy first, then come back to shower, then forgo the bus to walk and get the milkshake… Were they even still open? And was it a cookie dough kind of day, or a mint chocolate chip one? _Gah!_

Tyler gulped another swish of water. Wednesdays were always twice as long as any other day of his week, overloading his schedule with early morning group projects and after-school extracurriculars. Not even counting the time dedicated to homework, studying with Keaton, movie night with Amy, working on his poetry, eating dinner… maybe sleeping? He still slept sometimes, right? Oh, geez. Thank goodness this was his final year at high school, because he'd hit his breaking point in August.

The locker room door swung open then, sending bubbles of laughter flying over his head. Lowering the water bottle, Tyler licked his lips and glanced up as Kace and Logan staggered in, leaning on one another's shoulders. They took up their usual places on either side of him, flipping open their lockers almost in sync. Down went the racquets. Out came the plastic grocery bags of semi-clean clothes. Logan braced one foot against the bench and grabbed his tennis team shirt by its front. As he pulled it over his head, he called, "Hey, Ty. Heard you asked Ruby to prom?"

"Yeah, just on Monday." Tyler reached down to open his bottom locker from where he sat, knocking his racquet to the floor in the process. He winced. "I haven't heard back yet. Should I be worried?"

"Nah, I'm sure she'll follow through."

Kace poked his head from behind his locker door. "Hey, do I know Ruby?"

"Probably not. She's from my physics class. We did a group project with a tinfoil pizza box oven, but none of our other classes overlap. We had English and French together last year."

Logan nodded and let his shirt drop to the bench. He pulled out the new one, which was black and probably the exact opposite of what you'd want to wear on a scorching day like this one. "Gotta say, I'm surprised you didn't ask Amy."

Tyler shrugged, skimming his eyes towards the showers in the back. It felt disgusting to walk out of the locker room without rinsing off, but this was no ordinary sweat stink. This was full-on _you're going to want to break out all the shampoo and that brand new bar of soap_ stink. It was going to take awhile, and Amy deserved a heads up that he'd be late. "Yeah, no. I like Amy, but not like that. Besides, we hang out and have fun together almost every day. I wanted prom to be something special with a girl I might actually want to start a relationship with."

Kace made another reappearance, this time with a fat comb in his hand and eyes the size of peaches. "Did you ever tell Amy you kissed Ruby after her dance recital that one time?"

Tyler blinked. The kiss had been a quick one, goopy and nervous, and made more embarrassing in retrospect when he'd found his friends smirking at him from across the street. He'd sort of mentioned the doorstep moment when he'd told Amy how the date had gone, but she'd started asking questions about the recital's music, and then he forgot. It seemed weird to bring it up weeks later out of nowhere. "Was I supposed to? She never really asked."

"You know she likes you, right?"

Of course he'd say that. Tyler resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Well, she _did_ spend three days telling me she hopes Joshua Martinez asks to take her, so I don't think she cares if I ask someone else."

Logan shook his head. "I just hope you get the nerve to ask her out one of these days, Ty. She's not going to wait around forever, you know."

"Wait for what?"

"No girl hangs with a guy for this long unless she wants something." Logan raised his eyebrows, emphasizing the last word in that sentence to make its meaning undeniable. Kace bobbed his head in confirmation. Oh. Tyler wrinkled his nose and adjusted his grip on his racquet and water bottle.

"Amy's my best friend, but that doesn't mean I have to marry her. I can still hang out with girls I don't want to kiss. I don't get why you always make a big deal about it."

Logan groaned, and Kace flung out his arms. "I don't get you, Tyler! Life dropped this amazonian goddess who adores you more than anyone _right_ into your lap, and year after year, you turn up your nose at her."

"Whatever, guys." Tyler shut the door to his locker and twisted the combination dial. He scooped up his backpack. "If you're so into her, then why don't _you_ ask her out? Nothing's stopping you. It's not too late to take her to prom."

Kace made it to the door before Tyler did. Tyler stopped, hooking his thumbs beneath the straps of his backpack. Pushing his fingers through his hair, Kace looked him up and down and said, "Maybe I will. If you're not interested in making a move on her, then maybe you should step down and let someone else in on that action."

 _'That action.'_ The words brimmed with fire. Were they supposed to mean something? Tyler drummed his fingers, scowling for a long, wordless moment. The jab was a challenge, and one he wasn't ready to tackle. Shrugging, he said, "That's something you should talk about with Amy instead of me. I'm her best friend, not her life decision maker."

"Just don't be a third wheel, okay, Ty?"

"I'm fine staying out of your way. I just won't stop hanging out with her." Halfway through the door, he added, "It would take more than her dating someone else to break up best friends."

* * *

As April dragged on, the heat wave faded into blissful overcast skies, tinged with the smell of approaching rain. _Good_ , Tyler thought, tugging at a fold in one of his sleeves. It was about time a normal spring temperature decided to show up. Still, he didn't regret his choice to pass on the thick black suit and opt for his gray vest instead. He squinted at his warbled reflection in the elevator door. Specifically, at the jade green bow wrapped around his neck. Against all odds, Ruby had insisted on wearing a green dress instead of a red one. They'd probably bump into that same joke over and over all night.

Ruby had asked him to pick her up at a quarter to 6:00. That gave Tyler more than enough time to check on Amy. Ruby had her mom and three older sisters to fawn over her and make her look pretty for the evening. She didn't need him. But without Tyler to wait patiently by the door and praise every attempt she made to pin up her hair, Amy would be dressing alone. Hey, spending an hour watching the confused faces she pulled when she couldn't twist her braids quite right would always be more enjoyable than hanging around the apartment with Keaton practicing his flute off-key or Pearl dissolving into gooey mush over her latest boyfriend. Yeah, hard pass.

 _Ding!_ went the elevator. The doors slid apart. Tyler stepped out onto the 7th floor, his eyes wandering to the right hand side. Amy's door was shut. _Frozen_ shut, with a pale blue sheen. The carpet had turned to powdered sugar. Nearby wallpaper peeled back in chunks. Icicles stabbed up from the doorknob. It took Tyler several seconds to process what he was looking at, but when he did, he literally felt the blood drain from his face to the floor.

"Oh no. No, no. He wasn't supposed to come back until tomorrow…"

Amy losing control of her ice powers wasn't anything really new. Tyler had seen frozen pipes burst once when she'd leaned over the sink to spit out an angry blob of toothpaste. He'd seen bent forks and gushing sprinklers, but never anything _this_ severe. Fluffy snowflakes coated the hallway. Crunchy ice crystals grew like mold along the walls.

Only one person in the world could shatter her that much. It wasn't a long hall, but Tyler broke into a run.

"Amy? _Amy!"_

Her apartment door opened before he even reached it. Tyler skidded to a halt, kicking up gooey gray slush. When he looked up, biting hard, hard, _hard_ on his lower lip, he found himself facing Zephyr. Tyler had given up calling him Mr. Wenling years ago, for good reason. Zephyr was his villain name.

"Where's Amy?" he blurted, trying to duck under Zephyr's arm. He hadn't opened the door any wider than his face, but it was enough for Tyler to tell the apartment behind him had been doused in ice. His breath billowed like a mushroom. Breathing melted into literal pain. Frost crystals clawed his lungs.

Zephyr slid his hand down the door frame. He didn't move out of the way. "Amelia won't be attending prom this evening. Thank you for your concern."

"Why not?" Tyler craned his neck. He could just glimpse a nest of dust-blue hair lying in a tangle on the frosty kitchen table. Amy's pointy elbows were just visible on either side of the heap; she'd dumped her head into her crossed arms. Her purple dress had been tossed on the counter behind her, along with her mother's gold chain necklace.

Zephyr pushed his foot forward. His fingers curled around the door. "Tyler, you know our rules. It's within my rights to forbid Amy from dating anyone who doesn't measure up to my standards. That young man, Jeremy… He didn't fit the bill."

"You were in jail until this afternoon!" Tyler clenched his teeth and threw his glare in the other direction. "We've been planning this for weeks. You can't just show up out of nowhere the day _of_ and tell her she can't go!"

"Tyler," he snapped. "I am her father. It is within my rights."

"She's 18 now, she can make her own choices. It's not even serious dating- it's just _one_ dance. And Joshua is the nicest guy in school. You're just doing this because you don't want her to grow up and marry someone who doesn't have any superpowers!"

Why was he screaming? How long had he been screaming? The chilly air scraped his throat raw. Tyler clenched his hair in one hand, blinking frosty flakes from his eyelashes. His shoulders heaved. He was shaking undeniably.

"You're not better than us," he managed to say. His voice cracked like an ice cube underfoot. "Just because you have superpowers, it doesn't make you better than 'normals' are."

Without batting an eye, Zephyr snapped his fingers. Tyler's shoes lifted from the floor as though caught in a twirl of wind. He yelped and fumbled for something to grab onto, but Zephyr used his telekinetic ability to float him out into the hall and dump him on the damp carpet. While Tyler scrambled to his feet, he gingerly shut the door and locked it tight.

Tyler leaned against the opposite wall for a long, long time, wrapping his shoulders in his arms.

* * *

Prom felt colder without Amy by his side. Metaphorically speaking. Their group hadn't been large to begin with: Only him, Ruby, Amy, and Joshua. Tyler had waited outside Amy's apartment up until the last possible minute before he had to high-tail to Ruby's place, but she hadn't come. Now Joshua stood alone by the floor-to-ceiling windows, smiling whenever anyone looked his way, but never when they didn't.

Ruby looked stunning in dark forest green, of course. Her dress swept to the floor and the bodice was all lace or something; Tyler hadn't expected anything less. She'd braided her blonde hair and let it dangle over one shoulder. Just like, well, almost every girl in school, Ruby stood taller than him even without the wedged heels of her shoes, but at least she wasn't _that_ much taller. She smiled a lot, so Tyler did too.

He held her hand every time she wanted to cross the dark, stuffy room, but staying focused on her conversation sapped all his energy and left him lightheaded. This wasn't _right._ Not when Amy was in tears. The fluttery, romantic dream of senior prom night had floated somewhere in the back of Tyler's mind ever since he was a kid, because Amy had always made him swear he'd go. Purple had been her color of choice since 7th grade. She'd dragged him to the park to practice the steps of the foxtrot a million times. Well, maybe seventeen. At least nine.

Amy was supposed to _be_ here, poking fun at the cheesy sparkly decorations while she swished around the dance floor in Joshua's arms. She shouldn't have to be curled in a puddle in her room. She was meant to laugh as Tyler fumbled with a step or accidentally bumped her shoulder. Not pass her night in well-worn pajamas, staring at the yellow bars the headlights of passing cars painted on her ceiling as they drove by one by one.

Oh, well. Zephyr was a jerk, and that was that. Yes, Amy hadn't made it, but _he_ was here at prom with a beautiful girl who loved sewing so much that she'd probably hemmed and stitched the accents on her dress all on her own. He'd just have to enjoy the night enough for both of them. It was nice enough, with its gently pulsing lights and pink and green sugar cookies in the corner.

"Come on," Tyler said, tugging Ruby towards the dance floor. Of all the prom expectations he and Amy had gushed over, somehow, music had slipped their minds. The beat of the current song was too fast to be romantic, exactly, but he couldn't have picked a better one to swing her around to. He didn't really know what he was doing all the time, but maybe it didn't matter. He didn't step on her feet or drop her when he tried a clumsy dip, and they were having fun.

Three songs in, Ruby slid her hands down his arms until she grasped his wrists. "You know, I'm not sure I ever really said thanks."

Tyler snapped his gaze away from the windows. "What? For what?"

Ruby tilted her head. "For inviting me to prom instead of Amy. I just always assumed the two of you had a thing going, and I hope I didn't make things weird between you."

"Nah. Amy's my best friend." He cleared his throat and dropped his attention to her hands. They nestled against her lap, bunching the nearby fabric. Tyler slipped his palms against hers. Lifting them both, he raised his eyes to meet hers again. "But she and I have never been 'together.' I wanted to bring a _date_ to prom."

Ruby smiled at him. He smiled too. Several seconds passed in silence. Nothing happened. She didn't let go of his hands, or try to start dancing again, or say anything else.

Oh, right! He was probably supposed to kiss her now. Tyler leaned forward, parting his lips just enough to do it without making it weird. Ruby met him partway, just above their clasped hands. Their faces touched. The kiss sparked like a tiny candle, and left his spine tingling up and down. It took more strength than Tyler cared to admit not to kick one foot up behind him. With shy slowness, they drew apart.

"I'm glad you came," Tyler told her honestly. He lifted his shoulders. "Everyone kept telling me you wouldn't. Everyone always thinks I'm dating Amy, but I'm not. So I'm glad you didn't let rumors stand in your way."

Ruby's eyes rotated thoughtfully to her ankle. She pressed her thumbs against his palms. "I was… surprised to realize it was you who asked me, I'll admit. I know you two are close, but I thought, 'Hey, he did ask. It probably wasn't an accident; I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

Tyler laughed. "No, it definitely wasn't an accident." Glancing at their linked hands again, he tightened his fingers. "Yeah, no… It's great. Tonight's been great. I'm glad you came. It's nice to spend some time alone with you."

Ruby started to say something else, but then her eyebrows crinkled. Her nose bunched up. She leaned her head to one side, and suddenly her eyes bugged. "Hang on. Is that Amy right now? I guess she made it after all."

"What?" Tyler twisted to follow her gaze. When he did, his mouth popped open. "Oh _no."_

Was that Amy? Yes. Was she wearing her purple gown? No. Dressed to kill? Maybe literally. Her eyebrows had pressed her eyes to slits behind her glasses. She slogged through the crowd, shoving random couples into other random couples and tracking frosty footprints behind her. Every time she touched someone's skin, she left a bright red handprint and left them shivering. She wasn't trying to run, and the brisk way she brushed her hands together left a sinking feeling in Tyler's stomach. The look in her eye was the flare she got when she'd either punched someone with an entire 50% of her massive super strength, or was about to.

"Oh no," Tyler said again. Dropping Ruby's hands, he took off across the dance floor. He didn't make it in time to stop Amy from driving her fist into the wall. When she pulled back, chunks of plaster came with her. Heads began to turn, voices bursting out. Tyler prayed that the chaperone taking tickets at the door hadn't been the person she'd punched.

"Amy!"

She recognized his voice. That much was clear in the way she spun around. Her braid came across as more of a tangled rope than a woven crown. She wore her favorite white pajamas with the blue and purple snowflakes stamped all over them, even though she was tall enough now that the shirt didn't cover her belly button all the way. Her feet were bare. Tyler stumbled to a stop just in front of her, clenching the front of his vest with one hand. His eyes darted left and right.

"Um… Hi! Glad you made it. You look great. Hey, what's going on? What are you doing?"

Amy breathed for several seconds, saying nothing. Then, cracking around like a whip, she slammed her fist into the wall again. "If I can't enjoy my senior prom the way it was meant to be enjoyed, then _no one can!"_

Onlookers cried out again, some pressing forward and others pressing back. Oh, great. Knowing some of the idiot supers in _this_ school, some novice hero would try to step forward and take charge any second. Tyler's hands flew near his chest, palms forward. "Whoa, hey, let's talk about this-"

Amy grabbed his shoulder and shoved him off. He stumbled into one of the jocks he only vaguely recognized, bashing his elbow on literal iron ribs. By the time he'd apologized and regained his footing, Amy had flashed across the room. With her super speed behind her, she raced straight _up_ one of the walls and backflipped off again. As she came down, she brought two armloads of streamers with her. These went over her head, then down in a heap. _Smash!_ Her foot went up and down too, only it made a _much_ louder noise when it hit the floor. The room rumbled.

"Amy," Tyler called, racing after her.

Her eyes slid towards the water coolers and three trays of pink and green sugar cookies set out on a tiny nearby table. A distinct blue tinge began bubbling up her neck. It started from her chest and rose like magma, mottling her skin in icy fractals as she prepared to unleash her freeze breath everywhere. Tyler threw himself at her arm and shook it back and forth.

"Amy, stop!"

Amy whirled on him with a snarl. Tyler let go of her immediately and scrambled back. Her jitter kicked in. As she slipped into super speed, her edges began to blur. Tyler squeezed his hands against his head.

"Amy, you're scaring people! Stop it! Just _stop it!"_

She didn't stop it. Instead, she rocketed forward and engulfed him at full speed with an arm around his stomach. The wind gushed from his lungs. Tyler spluttered nonsense. He didn't even have time to cry out before they were zipping down the hallway, down the stairs, out the door, across the parking lot, and through the city streets. His legs flapped, banners in the breeze. His vision blurred. Oh boy. He tried to protest, but his words slurred together like melting ice cream cake.

"Amy?"

No response. The parking lot was lost. Random fast food joints and gas stations appeared up ahead, and disappeared behind them.

"A-Amy? Where are we going?"

Several seconds passed before his question reached her brain, but hers flew back at him hard and fast. "I don't know! Somewhere he won't find us! We're just getting out of here, okay?"

The streets collapsed into tiny dashes. Farther. Faster. Tyler had seen Amy sprint with her powers kicked up to their highest gear, her body practically slipping into light. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching her arm for all that he was worth. If he let go, that would be an awful lot of roadburn down his face. His lips parted, but no words came out. Not the first time. Not the second. Wind ripped across his eyelids. Finally, clenching her shoulder, he shouted, "Amy, _stop!_ Please, stop!"

He had to scream it twice before his words registered. Amy teetered on the edge. Hint by hint, she began to slow. Her body vibrated a little less, and she didn't scare him anymore. Still, Tyler blinked up at her without bothering to scrub away his tears.

Amy finally halted outside the donut shop near the pier. She was panting, but not a lot. Not enough for someone who had just sprinted three miles in under three minutes. She wiped her arm across her nose, then finally set Tyler down on his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him. He backed away, holding up his hands.

"Hey. Hey. Amy, we can't just… I mean, what are you doing? This is crazy."

"I'm not going back!" She grabbed the arms of her glasses, leaning forward like she might be sick and throw up right there. "I-it's time I made tracks. He's talking literally- he's going to _kill_ me."

Tyler searched her face, clenching and unclenching his fingers at his sides. "W-what? Amy, you can't be serious. We're just a month from graduation. You can't just cut ties and take off for the hills like nothing matters. Can we just reason through this one step at a time? Please? Think about your future."

"I'm running away. I don't care if you stay!" By this point, she'd leaned over so far, her glasses had slid from her nose and only dangled from her ears. Amy shook her head, still refusing to open her eyes.

"You can't run away like this," Tyler protested. The breeze blew his hair in bursts. "You don't have any money. You're wearing pajamas and you don't have shoes. You don't have food, or clothes, or anything. If you don't have a way to drink clean, fresh water, you'll die in just three days."

Amy smashed one foot on the road. Steaming in silence, she twisted her heel back and forth. Her shoulders trembled. With a sharp shake of her head, she marched past him, leaving a small but visible crack in the ground where she'd stomped. "Well, I can take care of myself just fine. I don't need your delays."

 _Arrrgh!_ Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn, just like her dad. Tyler clamped his fist in his bangs, and glared at the twinkling stars overhead. A thin cloud crossed the moon. He could hear his furious best friend storming away, her footfalls digging into the road.

Okay.

His jaw sagged. Then clenched. His fingers slid down until they pinched the bridge of his nose. Tyler massaged the spot for a few seconds more before he swung around. "Well… I can't go back and face Ruby after all that. And without me, you'll be dead before you reach Missouri."

"What?" Amy stopping walking. Her fingers splayed. She turned, with eyes halfway between distrust and hope. "Does that mean you want to come along with me?"

"Well. Yeah. We're basically best friends. I can't just let you throw your crazy life away all by yourself." Tyler forced himself to smile instead of freak out, and jogged down the sidewalk to catch up with her. He bumped her shoulder with his own. "I mean, where's the fun in that?"


	5. The One About the Photo Album

_The one about the photo album_

* * *

Three days after the prom-night-that-would-not-be-mentioned, Amy awoke with sunlight and golden cat fur in her face, two pink quilts tangled around her legs, and no idea where she was. Some kind of safehouse, she remembered hazily, but for the first few seconds, that was all. She nudged the ginger cat away and rubbed her eyelids with her thumb. The two pillows crammed between her head and the scruffy rug were thin, all their cotton balanced on their left halves. Automatically, Amy reached over to pat the space beside her. Her hand closed on cold and empty air. Wait, what? She squirmed into a half-sitting position, braced on her elbow. The second sleeping bag had already been rolled into a cylinder, and now rested on the couch.

"Tyler?"

"I'm in the kitchen." Glass clashed behind her, like a spoon in a bowl of cereal. Amy sat up, squinting in every direction. Her other hand fumbled for her glasses. Yes, there they were: smudged, but ready for action. She shook out the arms and slipped them on her nose. Whoa. The soft room around her embodied the spirit of cotton candy with all its white and pastels. The corner bookshelf only held thick and heavy texts. A tiny TV by the window had been switched on, with the morning news muted. Ceramic pigs and pink flowers stood poised on every doily-laden surface. Three puzzle boxes and a chessboard filled the coffee table.

Amy pulled her knees (and the cat) halfway to her chest and allowed her shoulders to relax. Right. Last night, she and Tyler had fallen asleep on the floor of her grandparents' living room. The ones on her mother's side, of course. What state were they in, again? Connecticut? With all the cuts and calluses on her feet, you'd think she'd run all the way to Kansas.

Cradling the cat, Amy stood up and crossed the hall to the tiny gray kitchen. Sure enough, Tyler sat at the little table against the wall with a bowl of Frosted Flakes and way too many newspapers. The second cat, the gray tabby, lay in his lap. Amy grinned. Tyler _hated_ Frosted Flakes. He wasn't much of a cat person, either. But give him something interesting to read, and he would always be happy. Amy leaned her shoulder against the curve of the doorway and hugged the ginger cat against her neck.

"Is my grandma up yet?"

Tyler pressed the bare spoon against his tongue. "She went to the store. When she found out I didn't bring any floss, she had a cow. I tried to tell her it was fine, because at least I grabbed a toothbrush before we left, but she wouldn't hear it."

"How dare we care more about being sneaky than having healthy teeth when we were running away from home?" Amy asked, in mock horror. That sounded _exactly_ like Gram. The ginger cat started to wriggle, so she loosened her arms and let him squirm to the floor. "What about my grandpa?"

"Oh. Uh." Tyler cleared his throat. His fingers closed around the collar of the striped nightshirt Gramps had given him when they'd stumbled into the house last night. "He's… not happy. He wants to be the one to bring Zephyr in. Argue in court about child abuse and everything, and how hard he pushed you in your training over the years. They'll probably want your testimony against him, which means we'd have to go back someday." He lifted his head. "Wow, geez. I never liked your dad, but I never knew it was _that_ bad."

"Yeah, well," Amy said, glancing at the ceiling. The lights were softer here than the ones in her ex-apartment. Less yellow, more white. "He just had a tough love training style, and I didn't want you to worry. I heal fast."

"I'm always worrying for you. Can you at least make it easy on me by keeping me in the loop?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

"… Did I do something wrong?"

The question made her eyelashes quiver. Amy jerked her head back around and stared at him, clutching one hand to her chest. Tyler's arm moved behind his head, his gaze flicking away.

"I just mean, if I did something to make you feel like you couldn't trust me… I'm sorry. Really."

"It's not you," she protested, her cheeks filling with ice when she flushed. She tiptoed to the cupboards and pulled down a bowl and a glass, as well as the Frosted Flakes Tyler had already put away. "It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that I didn't want to talk about it. I told you, I heal fast."

When Amy turned around, she found him sitting there with his head tipped slightly to one side, his eyebrows tilted upwards in the middle. Aw, geez. You know, it wasn't fair that he had such dark brown eyes. His sad puppy faces always left her tingling with guilt from head to heels. She averted her eyes and joined him at the table with her breakfast stuff. When she poured the cereal, it beat like hail against the cold ceramic of her bowl.

"They only had Frosted Flakes," Tyler said, flushing slightly as he defended his choices. His frown pricked into a smile at one corner. He ruffled the gray cat between the ears and leaned against the wall. "When we snuck back home to grab a few of our things, we should have included cereal."

Amy brought the milk out from the fridge and twisted off the cap. "Gram will buy you _anything_. Did you ask her?"

His eyes widened. "I was afraid. I mean, she was already mad about the floss. Hey, your grandparents have earth powers, right?"

"Yep." Amy set the milk on the table and grabbed a spoon. Then, at last, she plopped down in the chair beside him. "Gramps has plant powers, Gram has rock powers. When they were younger they traveled around a lot, doing landscaping and things for fancy people. They don't travel as much now, but big companies pay them heaps to design and look after their fancy courtyards." She grinned through her next bite. "They're tough. Even Zephyr's scared of them."

Tyler hesitated. He stroked the cat again, really digging his hand into her fur. "And… are you sure they're okay with me being here?"

Amy shot him a funny look. "What?"

"I'm normal," he said, like he thought he should apologize.

 _Oh._ Her bowl came down on the edge of the table. "Tyler, they don't care about that. All that matters is that you're my best friend. I mean…" Amy forced herself to smile. She shrugged. "Zephyr had powers, and look how great _he_ turned out to be."

Tyler crossed his eyes and thought about it for a moment, obviously not convinced. Amy frowned.

"You know, not liking normals comes from Zephyr's family. Gram and Gramps, my mom's side, aren't going to pick my friends for me."

"Yeah, okay." Tyler went back to skimming newspapers, but only for a few frustrated minutes. Then he glanced up again. "So do you know of _any_ ancestors in your family tree who are normals?"

Uhh… Amy sipped the last of the milk from her bowl, then got up to set it in the sink. Tyler set his cat aside and followed her, grabbing the milk. "Well," she said. "We, uh… We can check. Grams has a photo album to keep our records right. It's in the living room. I saw it on a shelf last night."

It sounded like as good a place to start as any. Tyler insisted on rinsing out and hand-drying their dishes, so Amy helped. Then while she searched the shelves in the living room for the album she had in mind, he rolled up her sleeping bag and set it on the couch beside his own.

One of the thinner albums at the bottom of the bookshelf seemed to be their best bet. Amy picked it up. Specks of dust clung to the sea of cattails on the cover, but it wasn't bad. She'd only seen the family album once, on Christmas Eve when she was ten and bored of all the stuffy adults crammed in one little room and asking her the same questions about school and friends over and over and over. Was this the one?

"Hey, is this your mom as a kid?"

Amy turned. Tyler had picked up a black and white photo that stood on the coffee table between the puzzle boxes.

"Hmm?" Amy came over to sit next to him on the couch. He lifted the photo higher so she could see. The picture in the frame showed two barefoot girls dressed in overalls, sitting on the back of a mud-splattered pick-up truck. The one on the left had freckles and frizzy hair that looked fiery red, even in grayscale and beneath her wide straw hat. The one on the right had huge buck teeth and thick, pale hair waterfalling down her back. Her arms were wrapped around a baby goat. Amy smiled and took the picture from his hand. "Yep! Quinn Reinhardt, back before she started playing ball seriously. And that's Aunt Josie, of course."

He nodded. Happy silence, for a moment. Amy traced her thumb across the glass.

"She looks like you with longer hair," Tyler said.

"Yeah. She does." Amy studied the picture a little more, sliding her hand along her cheek. "Except, I got my green eyes and pointy chin from Zephyr."

"He never deserved her."

Ouch. Amy bit her lip and rotated her stare around. Tyler blinked in surprise and leaned away. "Well," she said, "he wasn't always a villain, remember? Top of his training programs, well on his way to hero work. My mom married a hero. She had _me_ with a hero."

"Oh, right. Sorry." Tyler glanced away again, scratching the back of his head. Sighing, Amy returned the photo to the table and set the album with the cattail cover in her lap.

"I found this. I don't know if it's the right one, but if it isn't, then I don't have a clue."

"Worth a try, I guess."

She flipped it open to its middle. Two grainy photos peered up at her. Most of the page had been filled with tiny cursive handwriting, and Amy felt her eyes glaze over. Tyler put out his hand to stop her from turning away, so while he read, she rifled through the first several pages in search of more pictures. Most of them were gray. Some had been cut out of newspapers. Others were just pencil drawings. Near the front, she stumbled across something that looked a lot like a table of contents, and grinned.

"Oh, look! Here's a list of everyone in the whole family since my grandparents' parents, and their birthdays and superpowers. There's me!" _Amelia Kaitlyn Wenling, January 13th, ice breath / super strength / super speed._

Tyler's eyes didn't follow her pointing finger. Amy noticed this when she glanced over and realized he was starting from the top of the list. His eyes skimmed down every row. Reaching the bottom, he finally said, "No normals."

"Well…" Struggling to put the words together, Amy looked over the page again. Her finger slid away. "That's… not really a bad thing. It just means there haven't been any normals in my family since my great-grandparents. I'm sure there were normals before them."

Tyler didn't reply, only stared at the page in silence. His jaw tightened. His fingers clenched in his lap. Amy tried to think of something to say to him without making it weird.

"I mean, uh… There are no supers in your family either, so I guess we're even."

"Is it weird that we're friends?" he asked without raising his head.

"What? No! We went to the same school. We lived in the same building. Supers and normals are friends all the time. It's not weird!"

"I don't know," he said, his fingers tapping on his knee. The ginger cat padded up to the couch, then leapt up beside him. He didn't reach over to pet it.

Amy stared at the list of names in her lap. She brushed the backs of her knuckles across the page, flicking heaps of dust to the floor. _"I_ don't think it's weird. Even if everyone else in the world told me it was weird, I wouldn't think it's weird. Tyler, if I didn't want to be around you, why would I still be here?"

"You didn't want to be around Zephyr," he whispered. Amy shook her head and pushed the album off to the side.

"I'm Zephyr's kid. I _had_ to be around him because we lived together. But I always _chose_ to spend my free time with you. You're the one who makes me happy. You're my best friend."

Without speaking, without even looking up at her, Tyler spun around, grabbed her shoulders in a clenching hug, and buried his face in her hair. Amy blinked and hugged him back. Oh, she tried to keep her cold arms on his clothes instead of bare skin, but when hugs were involved, well… It was hard not to reel him in and squeeze until he popped. Tyler only shivered once, and crushed her tighter instead of letting go.


	6. The One About Rhyme's Grandparents

_The one about Rhyme's grandparents_

* * *

The photo album had been returned to the bookshelf, and the TV switched from the news channel to Saturday morning cartoons. Amy sat on the floor with her legs pulled to her chest, sketching on a clipboard she'd found in a kitchen drawer. She'd been silent for ten minutes now, which had to be some kind of record. Who'd have ever guessed drawing would be her thing? Tyler lay on his stomach behind her, taking up as much of the couch as he could possibly reach. Both cats had fallen asleep on top of him. He knew better than to try and move.

When their show ended on a cliffhanger and dove into commercials, Amy reached back and prodded his leg with the cap eraser of her pencil. "Hey. Tyler."

"What?"

Amy turned her clipboard around to reveal a stick figure with a square head, crossed eyeballs, and a large nose. Scruffy hair had been scribbled in on top. She grinned. "It's you."

Tyler pressed his fingers to his chest, pretending to be insulted. _"That's_ what you think I look like? And you've known me _how_ long?"

Amy laughed and flipped the first paper back behind the top of the clipboard. She smoothed the paper underneath with a few strokes of her hand. "Just kidding. This is what I really drew."

"… Whoa," Tyler shifted very slightly to get a better view. Her second drawing looked, well… _better_ than her stick figure, to say the very least. She'd only done his face and the tops of his shoulders, but that was all she'd needed to. It was obvious that was him. There was his nose, big and pointed. His eyes beside it, eyebrows thick and bushy. She'd caught the shine to the waves in his hair with just a few quick scratches of her pencil. And she hadn't even twisted around to look at him while she did it. Tyler blinked. She'd remembered the tiny hairs forming a baby goatee on his chin. Even he forgot he had those sometimes.

He stretched out his hand. "That's pretty good. Let me try you."

"Cats," she reminded him, and stuck out her tongue. Tyler stuck his tongue out back. _Nyeh._ She had a point. He'd always preferred dogs to cats, and would've loved to adopt one had the apartment ever allowed it. But as far as cats went, Misty and Ember seemed okay. They'd spent all morning trotting up and butting their faces against his hands. It seemed rude to disturb their comfort by sitting up now that they'd finally settled down.

It was just as well. Right then, the knob on the front door began to rattle. Keys scratched against the other side. Amy and Tyler both looked up, drawings and cartoons forgotten. Amy's shoulders tensed. She dove forward and switched the TV to _Off_. At that, Tyler winced. She'd always done the dive when they were watching cartoons in her apartment and they heard Zephyr at the door. Amy kept insisting her grandparents weren't as controlling as her father was, but did she even believe it herself? Her words said one thing. Her actions said another.

Force of habit, he hoped.

Amy rolled backwards and flipped to her feet. Her arms went out for hugs. "Gran! Gramps!" In a literal flash of bright blue light, she zipped to meet them at the door. The curtains and papers on her clipboard rustled behind her.

"Whoa!" Gramps stumbled back, grocery bags and all. Ignoring his amused protest, Amy darted behind him, squeezed his shoulders, and then rushed outside to catch her grandmother on the sidewalk.

It was as good an excuse to finally move as any. Tyler sat up, bringing both cats around to his lap. Misty hissed and sprang to the floor, but Ember cuddled up in his arms. He stood, and with the hand that wasn't cradling the cat, offered Gramps an awkward wave.

"Thanks for going to the store. I really appreciate it."

Gramps lifted a shopping bag-laden arm and wiped his shaggy hair from his eyes. "Our pleasure, Tyler. It's not every day you get to welcome a legitimate eloping granddaughter and her fiancé."

Tyler blinked. Twice. Then a third time for good measure. Is that what Amy had told her grandparents after he'd fallen asleep? Maybe for his own good? Would her family throw him out in the street if he corrected them, because while they might support two young kids in love on the run from an abusive father, they wouldn't look twice at a boy and a girl with no romantic commitments of any kind? She didn't expect him to _actually_ pretend he was in love with her, did she? Just to be safe, he checked the door for Amy's reaction. She wasn't there. Tyler tensed his shoulders, curling his fingers into Ember's fur. Fortunately, Gramps noticed, and his expression softened.

"I shot the wrong deer in the dark, didn't I?"

Thank goodness. Tyler bent down to set Ember back on all four paws. "Best friends ever since we were kids." Then, out of the blue, he added, "I actually took this other girl I knew to prom. That was three days ago. So."

Gramps nodded, saying nothing. He wandered into the kitchen with the shopping bags. Tyler caught sight of round tortilla chips, and suddenly realized that salsa and melted cheese sounded _amazing_ right now.

The door opened a little wider. Gran shuffled through, wrapping up a story over her shoulder with, "If you ever do see him again, tell him his mother said to write." Amy hopped up the steps behind her, holding some sort of small white box. Grinning, she tossed it to Tyler. He caught it in one hand and glanced down. Ah. Dental floss.

"Ha ha, I can take a hint. Should I use this right now?"

Gran laughed. "After lunch, of course. Goodness, how the morning flies! Is it that late already? I've got to hustle if I don't want the both of you dropping dead from starvation on my floor. Do cinnamon waffles sound good?"

Tyler couldn't help himself. He groaned. "Yes, please! I had to eat _Frosted Flakes_ this morning."

Amy shut the door and tossed her hair. "You brought this on yourself. I gave you a warning."

"No one _actually_ likes Frosted Flakes."

 _"I_ like Frosted Flakes."

"Waffles for our late little lunch it is," Gran said cheerily, sweeping past them into the kitchen. Tyler followed her with a shake of his head.

"You fawn over me even more than my own grandparents. And I have good grandparents- they're Canadian. Can you just adopt me?"

Gran winked. "I'll add you to the waiting list."

The grocery bags went down on the corner table. Tyler took three and handed three more to Amy. By the time Gran had found and plugged in the waffle iron, they were done, with everything but the immediate ingredients tucked away exactly where they should be. Amy perched on the edge of the counter, swinging her legs. "Don't bump your head," Tyler said absently as he scooted past. She pushed him with the tip of her shoe.

"I never bump my head."

"That's because I tell you not to." Tyler leaned against the fridge. He watched Gran feel in the lower cabinets for her mixing bowl, then asked, "Can I help?"

She glanced up at him, bemused. Her eyes sparkled green, and Tyler couldn't hold back a smile. She was Amy's grandma, all right- no DNA test necessary. "I'm no needy old woman yet," she retorted. "But far be it for me to deny you the chance."

"I've always wanted to learn."

"And I'd like a turn," Amy chimed in.

Gran nodded. "Tyler, grab the salt, sugar, and vanilla. My measuring cups and spoons are yours to command. Millie, you can whisk the eggs."

Amy leapt up, but Tyler's heart sank. Oh. Was it just a coincidence he'd been assigned the easy task of measuring ingredients, instead of mixing things around? It wasn't like mixing even required a lot of strength. Kids could do it.

Maybe he stood in silence for a moment too long, because Gram straightened up and looked him dead in the eye. "You can warm the milk in a minute."

He blinked. "Warm the milk?"

"Just a secret trick of mine to keep the butter soft."

Well, maybe it wasn't as exciting as spinning a whisk around a bowl, but at least warming things up was something he'd probably have an easier time doing than Amy would. Her cold hands or excited breathing would cancel out the effect of warm milk in an instant. Tyler nodded, and grabbed the ring of tablespoons.

"Sugar?" he called, reaching high to snatch the salt from its overhead cupboard.

"Third left bottom cabinet, second shelf, right side," Amy called back, kicking the fridge door shut behind her. Her hands fumbled with the egg carton, but when he shot her a questioning look, she waved away the unspoken offer to help with a smile.

"Third shelf from the left on this wall, or that wall?"

"This wall."

"Which wall?"

 _"That_ wall."

The waffles were ridiculously good, _of_ _course._ Weird how someone with rock powers could bake something so light and fluffy. Gran even taught him how to keep them crispy by not stacking them all as they came off the hot iron. There were bananas, blueberries, chocolate chips, and strawberries all in their own color-coded dishes. Whipped cream, too. And Gramps had given in to Amy's pleading and brought out his special homemade syrup, which probably put one of those ice cream sinks you're supposed to share with your friends and family to shame in terms of health value. It was worth it. Tyler had never eaten more than eight waffles in a single sitting before, but suddenly, faced with all that food, he found the strength deep within him to overcome any trial.

Gran shook her head, splurting a generous amount of whipped cream atop her waffle. "Who usually cuts your hair, dear? If your bangs get too long for you, I'll be happy to bring them back in line. After being married for fifty-one years to _this_ man, I've become quite an expert on cutting grass."

"I like my hair," Tyler protested, covering his mouth with his hand. Amy kicked his ankle beneath the table.

"You're getting syrup in your beard."

Tyler stuck out his tongue. Maybe he still had food on it, because Amy laughed so hard she shot milk from her nose. It turned to chunky ice crystals and splattered on his wrist. Tyler called it quits after that. He left the kitchen with his arms up in surrender to go take a full-on shower, while everyone behind him laughed and dove into another round of waffles.

When lunch finally ended, Gramps pulled Amy into the living room so they could talk about the legalities involved in bringing Zephyr to court. Tyler tried to follow her, still adjusting the hem of the oversized shirt her grandpa had leant him, but the warning look Amy shot across the room froze him faster than her freeze breath ever could. He took two steps back, and hovered for a moment in the doorway as she settled on the couch. The two cats immediately jumped up beside her. She held Ember to her chest, while Misty settled in her lap.

Gran kept him busy around the kitchen, though. After gathering the dishes near the sink, she pulled a cookbook filled to the brim with dessert recipes down from a high shelf. This, she handed to Tyler. "Pick what you like for tonight," she suggested. "And if I have to make another run to the grocery store, well, then so be it. I live for a little adventure. Today, you're our guests."

Tyler couldn't bring himself to laugh, so he smiled instead and promised her he'd look as soon as the dishes had been washed and put away. After all, he was a guest, not a hotel patron. It seemed rude to make her clean up after him and Amy all by herself.

Gran stuffed the plug in the left-hand half of the divided sink, then flipped on the water. She followed this with a squirt of purple soap. White bubbles began to sprout like weeds. "So, what's your story, Tyler? I understand that you're in Millie's year at school."

 _And I seriously, actually dropped out just a few weeks before graduation._ Tyler's eyes glazed over. He picked up a fork that dripped with syrup and held it beneath the gushing water.

"Yeah, we've been in the same school ever since my family moved to her apartment building when I was 8. We're exactly four floors above her."

"Where did you used to live?"

"Toronto."

"Go Maple Leafs," she said with a wise nod, and Tyler smiled. He figured he was allowed to hold true to _one_ Canadian stereotype, and if he said he didn't like hockey, that would be a lie.

"Yeah. So, my family moved to the States, and Amy and I have been best friends ever since."

Gran whistled and picked up a sponge. She adjusted the spout of the sink so it began to fill the second half. "A whole decade. That's nothing to sneeze at." Her eyes trailed towards the living room. "Poor girl. If Quinn could see what's become of Nathan now, she'd be turning in her grave. It sounds as though he isn't the charming young gentleman I remember picking her up at the door every other evening." She pressed her palm against her cheek. Softer, "I'm glad, at least, that Amy had you."

Tyler rubbed behind his neck again, glancing at the ceiling. "Yeah, well. If I'd known things with her dad were _half_ as bad as this, we'd have run away sooner."

"Long way," she murmured.

"I know. But my parents don't get Amy. I mean, to them, she's… Well, she's a super. You know how some normals get about supers. Or how some supers get about normals. They think Amy's supposed to be trained to use her powers _by other supers_ , and having normals look after her would be wrong _._ I dunno." Shrugging one shoulder, Tyler mumbled, "I guess my mom and dad always thought I'd grow out of being her friend someday. I mean, lots of supers go on to charm schools instead of public school. Amy was just one of the few who didn't. Her dad wanted to train her all by himself, and I knew he pushed her, but… I should've realized what was really going on. I'm supposed to be the one person she can always trust, and…" Soapy fingers grabbing his hair, Tyler choked out, "I wasn't? I don't- I don't even know how I feel about that."

Gran watched him for several more seconds, then turned off the sink with a soft hand. "Don't blame yourself, Tyler. It sounds to me like you truly do have her best interests at heart."

He frowned at the fork in his hand. Hot water droplets ran from his wrist to his elbow. "I couldn't just let her run away without me. It's all so crazy, it hasn't really sunk in. All I know is, there's no way she could stay in my apartment- that's the first place he'd look. I don't know. I love my family. I left them a note before I ran away." Glancing up, Tyler shrugged again and said, "I knew we had to leave the city if we didn't want to get caught and dragged home again, but I thought we'd still stay in the area. I didn't know we were going to leave Massachusetts. Crossing into Connecticut came out of left field, and I get the funny feeling that Amy wants to keep on running as far as she can. It's just in her nature. She's, well, wild. I'm a planner. Now I don't know what to plan for, I guess."

Gran nodded. Silence passed. Tyler handed her a plate, and went to collect the empty fruit dishes from the table. A few faint words of Amy's conversation with her grandpa drifted into the kitchen. Stuff about lack of sleep, getting dragged out of school early to work with Zephyr at the gym, running outside in the rain and hail at 2:30 in the morning every night for too many nights to count… it all seemed like such insignificant stuff that had piled up too fast. Stuff that should've been too huge to have gone unnoticed for this long.

Maybe he wasn't the best friend she deserved.

That night, unrolling his sleeping bag next to Amy's on the soft living room rug, Tyler scratched behind his neck and asked her, "Do you think Zephyr's going to guess where we went?"

Amy shifted her attention away from the puzzle box in her lap. She brushed her hand over the picture of a giant sandcastle one last time. The box went back on the coffee table. She wrapped her arms around her knees. She'd borrowed some of Gran's old charm school sweatpants and a sweatshirt to use as pajamas, although since the shirt had kept in such good condition all these years, Tyler wondered if it had belonged to Quinn. Maybe Gran had simply held onto it, waiting for the day when Amy would ask for some of her mother's things. Sympathy trickled down his spine. He shivered. Weird. Without her glasses, Amy's eyes looked so fragile. So exposed.

"I don't know," was all she said for a moment. Tyler shooed away the cats and sat down beside her, and Amy added, "He never really got along with Gran and Gramps after Mom died. I remember he was always too nervous around them to even say 'Boo.' Maybe he'll come. Maybe he won't."

Tyler studied her face, not wanting to pry. Amy pushed her wrist across her cheek, then tossed him a struggling smile.

"Isn't it sad that I almost want him to?"

Huh? Tyler looked her up and down. "Wait. You… _want_ to see Zephyr again?"

Amy's gaze darted away, but she kept facing him. "I mean…" Here, her head tilted in the opposite direction. Her eyes flicked back to his. She pulled her knees tighter. "I hope he still loves me. Even though… I don't want to live with him anymore."

He swallowed. "I, uh… I don't know what to say. That's so you. Maybe… things will all work out in the end."

He hated _Maybe_ s, but Amy didn't. They shared a smile, awkwardly, and in the end fell asleep facing opposite walls.

* * *

The thought that Zephyr might discover them - that on a perfectly innocent day when they were just trying to get by, that jerk could potentially invite himself inside their safehouse and tear their friendship apart for good - nagged like a constant drumbeat in the back of Tyler's mind for over a week. Gran kept him distracted with an endless waterfall of new and interesting desserts to bake, and Gramps pulled a different game from the hallway closet every night. Tonight, it was Scrabble. Normally Tyler _loved_ Scrabble, but his heart wasn't in it. Even Amy could tell, judging from her sideways glances, gentle elbow nudges, and silent hugs. Amy could always tell.

He couldn't sleep. Well, I mean, he never woke up screaming from nightmares or fumbling around to assure himself that Amy was still there beside him, or anything like that. Especially since the cluttered guest room had finally been cleaned out, and she had moved down the hall. Tyler spent his nights on the couch with the cats. So she wasn't there, and he _knew_ she wasn't there, just like every other night for the last ten years. He never woke up scrambling to find her. He just… couldn't sleep. Hours passed as he lay with his fingers laced behind his head, staring and staring at the high ceiling in this house built for people so much taller than him. When cars drifted past outside, lights and shadows rippled along the walls. Each time the full moon slipped behind the clouds, the room darkened by at least three shades. Or when he did sleep, he couldn't stay asleep for long.

 _Because Zephyr might sneak in if I do._

He'd never worried about burglars or murderers before, living in his old apartment building. Having spent a decade of his life there, Tyler had gotten to know most of the people pretty well, both the stable families and the newcomers. They were his neighbors. People who would never hurt him.

 _Zephyr would._

He rolled over, clenching a puff of the thick quilt in his arms. It wasn't exactly a teddy bear, but it made him feel a little better. Another exhausting night.

"I don't think it's a good idea for Amy and I to stay here," he told Gran as they scrambled eggs the following morning. When she paused, he tightened his grip on the pan handle and barreled on with, "You've been great, really. I love it here. I'm just not sure it's safe. You're Amy's grandparents. Sooner or later, Zephyr will guess where we ran off to. He's escaped from jail before. I think it's great that Gramps wants to take him to court, but the truth is, if the police arrest him again, I don't see what they can do to keep him locked up any longer than usual. Plus, he has super speed."

Gran thought for a moment, prodding the eggs with a wooden spatula. "Well. It's true that Zephyr has always been a quiet, calculating man. It's also true that with his ability to manipulate air currents, it's hard to keep him locked away. You make a very valid point."

When she wasn't watching, Tyler made a face. Yeah, he liked being right, but in this case, he almost would have preferred the false reassurance.

"I guess I shouldn't worry," he said, grabbing a plate for the eggs. He squinted, unable to decide whether they were too runny or too crispy. "You, Gramps, and Amy all have superpowers. If he showed up on your doorstep, he'd be challenging all three of you. That's pretty promising… I just wish I could help."

Another thoughtful moment passed. Then Gran set aside her spatula. "Tyler, how much do you enjoy cleaning?"

Tyler shrugged.

"You must, since you're always the first to volunteer when there are chores to be done."

"I guess my parents raised me right?"

"Henry and I are in the landscaping business." Gran nodded into the hallway to indicate Gramps in his room, in case Tyler didn't know who she was talking about. "There's a hotel about twenty miles from here. Lovely place; simply stunning. Twelve floors high and their service can't be beat. We drive down there several times a month to tend to the courtyard."

"We can't impose on your generosity longer more than we have to. You've done enough. Really. Thank you."

She shook her head and dialed down the temperature on the stove. "We're familiar with the man who runs the place, and if Henry and I recommended you to him personally and explain the situation, I suspect he'd take you onboard his housekeeping team for at least a few months. Provided, of course, that you really do work as hard as we promise you will. That would give us all enough time to plot our next course of action."

Tyler had given up trying to balance work and school following a brief affair with a dry cleaning business two bus transfers from his apartment. He'd always meant to spend the summer after graduation earning money for college… maybe even spend an entire year in one place before he even applied seriously. Still, he found himself frowning.

"At least think about it," Gran coaxed. "You could earn the money and the right to rent a room, all on your own. You'd be far enough away that Nathan won't find you easily, and Henry and I could check in on you every week. Would you like that?"

Tyler stared down at his plate of eggs. He tilted it one way, then the other. "I dunno… Cleaning a big hotel every day sounds a little lonely. And can Amy and I actually afford two separate rooms? That sounds like a lot of work."

"You could always share one room."

"What?" Tyler reeled back his head, and, well… _stared_ at her. Gran continued working with the eggs, whistling innocently. "Me and Amy? Just the two of us? Alone? And… you would be okay with that?"

"Why not? I trust you two to be alone in this house when I'm away, don't I? You're both old enough to make your old decisions. Besides, you're a rational planner, like me. You won't ever dig yourself into a hole too deep to climb out of."

She winked in her typical way, and Tyler squinted.

"… Huh." One thing was for sure, he never would have gotten _that_ lenient of a response from his mom.

The more he thought about it, the more sense it actually made. He'd need some time to talk it over with Amy, of course (and he'd need some time to talk it over with the other parts of his own brain before that), but at a glance, everything seemed to line up. Neither he nor Amy really minded cleaning, although she probably wouldn't bother if she felt like she could get away with it. The hotel sounded just the right distance from Amy's grandparents' place to offer them independency, and close enough to reach within an hour if something came up and they needed to. And, Gran was right. Tyler never really felt happy unless he felt like the work he was doing was meaningful. If there was anyone in the world he would have felt comfortable sharing a room with for months on end, hands down he would pick Amy.

He only hoped this hotel manager would be as willing to work with them as Gran suggested.

"Though, you may want to get some fake wedding rings you can wear to keep the clowns away," Gran mused, tilting back her head. "Or you could get married in actuality… You _are_ both 18, so you wouldn't need your parents' permission…"

Amy appeared in the kitchen doorway like a firework in December, her blue hair mussed and teeth half-brushed. Seriously, her mouth dripped with foam, and she still had her toothbrush in her hand. "We could get friend-married!"

"No, that's okay," Tyler protested, lifting his hands near his chest. "Really. I'm fine just wearing a fake ring if you feel like we have to."

A mischievous twinkle crept into Amy's eyes. Cupping a hand below her chin to catch the toothpaste leaking from her mouth, she said, "I've got something _better_ than a wedding ring."

"Wait," he tried again, but Amy zipped down the hall before he could explain. She was back in a flash. There, on the kitchen floor, she lowered herself to one knee and held up her clasped hands. Instead of a small box with a ring inside, she held… Tyler wasn't really sure what she held, but it was small and attached to a cord.

"What are you doing?"

"It's a friendship marriage," Amy chirped. She'd lost the toothbrush, but hadn't wiped her mouth. "We've been calling each other best friends for ten years now, so it feels like we should make it official." She separated her fingers just enough for Tyler to make out what was in her hands: Two necklaces, each bearing a single large charm shaped like a piece of bread. One had peanut butter smeared across its front, the other jelly, like a matching pair. Both were accented with gaping smiley faces. "At least, if you're not too embarrassed. Tyler Horace Eiffel, would you accept my humble gift? To keep and to hold and to never part with? To signal our friendship will last until death, meaning we'll know we're best friends until our last breath?"

Gran chuckled. The stove crackled. Too flustered to respond properly, Tyler lifted his scrambled eggs above his head. "I, uh… Amy, you know, you could have waited to spit out your toothpaste before you did this."

"I'm authentic," she said, spewing icy bubbles. "So?"

He arched his eyebrows. The eggs went down on the counter behind him. "Will I be your best friend for time and all eternity, until death do us part?"

"Yes, exactly. And with all of your heart?"

"Sure, I'm okay with that. I've put up with you for this long, haven't I?"

Amy smiled, and rose to her feet. "Me too. Turn around."

He did, but couldn't resist glancing over his shoulder to figure out what she was doing. Amy shook out the tangled necklace chains, then unclipped the back of one. She spread her hands apart, and settled the necklace around his neck. It took her a moment of fumbling with the latch (long enough for ice crystals to start forming in his hair), but in the end, her endeavor was successful, and she stepped back to admire her work. Tyler lifted the necklace in his palm and squinted down at his half of the sandwich. Jelly. The happy piece of bread dangled from its chain by a loop at just one corner.

"Huh."

"Okay. Now, you do me."

"Seriously?" he asked. He took the peanut butter necklace with a smile and dropped down to one knee. Amy, who had already turned around in anticipation of Tyler simply latching the back of hers, spun to look at him again and burst into giggles at the sight.

They started work at the hotel four days later. Amy catnapped for most of the drive, but Tyler kept his attention beyond the window. When Gramps finally turned the car into a lot, Tyler pressed his palms against the glass. A proud, elegant castle of a hotel gazed down at them from on high, every window glittering in the sunrise. The courtyard burst with flowers and fluffy grass, not to mention a few well-placed decorative giant boulders.

"You work _here?"_

"Oh, this little place?" Gran asked modestly.

The inside of the hotel was no less impressive. Tyler ran ahead of the group, his borrowed briefcase of a suitcase slapping at his legs. The walls glowed with yellow paper. All three counters in the lobby gleamed, and every box of pamphlets had been ordered into a neat, perfect display. The floor was so reflective, it looked more like a pool than the ground.

Speaking of pools, the hotel did have one. Tyler glimpsed it on their tour, wishing suddenly that he'd packed a swimsuit. Grams and Gramps were nice and had already taken him shopping for new clothes that fit, but a swimsuit wasn't something that had been on his list. Oh well. Maybe he could save up some cash to buy one he liked all on his own, with money he'd worked for himself. At that, he smiled and hurried through the halls a little faster.

The hotel manager did seem to like them, true to Gran's word. He welcomed them cheerfully and shook their hands, then threw in a short spiel about how any grandchild of Gran and Gramps had to come from good stock, and how shaken he was to hear about their problems with Zephyr. "If there's anything I can do," yadda yadda yadda. Tyler and Amy nodded.

They were each presented with a plastic shower caddy of simple cleaning supplies for the bathrooms, as well as careful instructions on how to make the beds to the guests' liking. It was enough to start them off, and with that, they were on their way. Their assignment was to practice tidying up a few rooms that had just been checked out of that morning, and which weren't scheduled to fill up for a few more days. When Tyler opened the first door with his master key, his mouth dropped.

At least three different homesick pangs rapped him on the back of the head and stabbed him in his guts. The hotel room before him looked like, well… It was small, with spiral-patterned carpet and old-fashioned brown and white wallpaper. Not exactly as ritzy as he'd been hoping for given the swimming pool and the shiny lobby tiles, but it reminded him piercingly of home. There weren't posters on the walls, but there were plenty of familiar cracks and dents nonetheless.

And that _bed!_

It was bigger than the bed his parents shared, hands down. Not only higher off the floor, but wider as well. You could have fit, well, every person in his entire family in that bed. Enormous cushy lumps carved hills and valleys in the blanket. Pristine white sheets met black pillows that didn't have any lint on them. It looked so… so…

Tyler inhaled the fresh smells of the room, and blew out his breath again. "Clean…"

Don't get him wrong- Amy's grandparents were great. And their home wasn't a disaster by any means. It was just a little too… warm and fuzzy for him. Now, _this-_ this was sleek and modern, with lamps on both sides of the bed and a big color TV on the dresser across from it. It probably had 500 channels on it. The desk wasn't stacked with pencil shavings and crumpled bags of chips like the one he'd always had to share with Keaton. Bright white lights instead of yellow ones. With the curtains pulled back and the city lights gleaming, the entire room looked as new and shiny as a baby. A baby with some seriously excellent tastes.

"Ours won't look like this, Tyler."

"Oh, yes it will. Someday. We just need to plan carefully and work hard." Tyler couldn't resist. Shoving his cleaning supplies into Amy's hands, he raced to the bed with a yelp and then threw himself across it face-down. _Goosh!_ He sank into the mattress practically up to his ears.

"Can I live here?" he mumbled into the pillows.

Amy whistled softly. The cleaning supplies clattered as she shifted her arms. "I wouldn't mind cleaning every day if it means a place like this is where we get to stay."

Tyler rolled over, still hugging a pillow to his chest and grinning like a lunatic. His eyes wandered to the pale whiteness of the ceiling. After a respectful moment of silence, Amy wandered over and peered down at him. He pressed the pillow into his face.

"Oh man. This is the kind of life you _dream_ of having."

"It's a lot," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I dig it. If I were rich, I'd stay here every day."

Amy flopped down beside him and folded her arms behind her neck. She tilted back her head. "Me? I think I just prefer the simple way."

Tyler lowered the pillow. "Do you think either of us will ever be rich?"

"Nah. But I hope we'll be famous."

"That's basically the same thing, isn't it?" He shrugged. "Well, if I ever become rich, I'll split it with you."

"Yeah?" Amy turned her head, eyebrows raised. "50-50?"

"Probably. I guess it depends on if I'm married…" Tyler's voice trailed off, and he frowned. His arms tightened around the pillow again. "I barely turned 18 a week ago. My parents were married at 21, and they had Pearl just a year after they were married. Oh, wow. I could be married with a kid in just five years."

They gazed at the ceiling for a long time. Tyler glanced sideways at Amy, who stared upwards for a few more seconds before glancing at him, too. She bit her lip.

"We should get back to cleaning," he said, and tossed the plump pillow back where he'd found it.


End file.
